It's Not Paranoia
by Indigo-Night-Wisp
Summary: ...If everyone really is out to get you. For Loki, this includes his father's enemies, his well-meaning brother, his therapist, his classmates, his professors, and Darcy Lewis. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: "Well, I guess **_**that's**_** worth a look." –Loki, **_**Thor**_

**A/N: This story is set in an alternate universe, in which everyone is human.**

**Quite a bit of the premise comes from Gordan Korman's book **_**Son of the Mob**_**, which is very good, extremely funny, and a read I definitely recommend.**

**Also, one last thing: This story and Loki's "issues" are not intended by any means to be a serious representation of actual mental illness. I normally don't trigger warn, mostly because I don't usually write stuff that requires it (in my opinion), but I will warn right here: there are some instances of Loki displaying characteristics of mental illness in this story, and those characteristics being described by Loki in a snarky/comedic fashion. I am not mentally ill, and I do not have personal experience with any of the symptoms described in this fic.**

**I'd like to thank The BlueFoxtrot A Samba, for helping with this story, for being a good friend, and just being all around amazing.**

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**Chapter 1: Prologue**

**Alternately titled: In which Loki is neurotic.**

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So, my therapist suggested that I write it all down. Said it would help or something like that. "Writing frees the mind, Loki," he told me.

Personally, I think he just wants me to write it down so he can hack into my computer files later and read all the parts I didn't tell him in our actual sessions. And he could too. Could and would. The man is a genius, and he's forgotten more about computers than I'll ever know. He also has a rather shaky grasp of ethics, and has no compunctions about invading my personal life, despite repeatedly promising that he would never do such a thing.

Whoever gave Tony Stark a license to practice psychology obviously wasn't right in the head.

Technically, this should make said license invalid. Unfortunately, I can't prove anything, and if I stop going to therapy, my brother will hunt me down and haunt my apartment looking worried until I feel guilty enough to go back. (Honestly, you have _one _breakdown and it's like everyone expects you to fall to pieces any second.)

Anyway, I'm writing it down. I'm supposed to start at the beginning, but since The Beginning would technically be my birth, I'm going to go with the other beginning, the one that three months ago led me into the weirdest events of my life. And considering my life, that's saying something. It's been two months since everything was resolved, and I'm still not entirely sure of all the facts.

Tony –since I know you're reading this– if you hold to no other code, _please_, hold to your promise of doctor/patient confidentiality.

There's some sensitive material in here.

000

_Three months ago_

I woke up, on a Monday morning, at exactly 6:45 AM. Instead of jumping out of bed to greet the day with a sunshiny smile, eager to spread my joy and good cheer with the world, I did something much more gratifying. (And loads more in character.)

I cussed out my alarm clock, hit the snooze button, rolled over and went back to sleep.

Fifteen minutes later, I was slightly more ready to face the dreadful experience that was Monday Morning. I dragged myself out of bed and into the kitchen to make coffee.

While I waited for the coffee to percolate and spread its life-and-energy-giving aroma to my cells, my eyes wandered around the kitchen and I mentally made a shopping list. The apartment was almost bare in the food department. I eyed one particular empty cupboard. _Coffee is going at the top of that list. When I get around to actually making it._

When the coffee was finally finished brewing, I poured a cup and took it with me to the bathroom while I showered and got dressed. By then, I was sufficiently awake to notice the time. I was going to be late. Cursing again, I grabbed my satchel and coat and hustled for the door.

000

I despise public transportation. If I had any choice at all, I'd never set foot on a bus or in a taxi ever again. Unfortunately, the lack of a car and the even bigger lack of proper funds to purchase one mean that I do not, in fact, have a choice, and as such, I spent twenty minutes of my morning on a bus, with _other people._ It was awful. I hate people pressing in on me and around me and just generally being in my space. It's unnerving. The more people around, the easier it is to strike and then slip into the crowd. (Does this make me sound crazy? Why, yes, thank you for noticing, _Tony. _Why do you think I'm in therapy, _jerk_?) By the time I reached Rogers University, I was nearly hyperventilating and had to take a few precious minutes to gulp in oxygen and try to get my heart rate back to something resembling normal. (My time consciousness was kind of unnecessary, as it turned out. I made it to my class with about two and a half minutes to spare.)

My first class of the day was _A New Perspective on American History_, with Professor Logan Howlett. It was the most boring class I've ever had to sit through, but Professor Howlett was, in my opinion, the least likely of my teachers to drive me into a psychotic break before I reached the legal drinking age, so I went every day and listened to him talk about World War II _like he was actually there_ and I was darn grateful for it.

The only real downside to the class was that Darcy Lewis was in there with me. I know, guidance counselors everywhere will tell you that it's ridiculous to dislike something because of one person, but I bet none of those guidance counselors ever had to share a class with Darcy Lewis. She was, to put it mildly, creepier than the Pumpkin King on Halloween. She alternated between periods of intense silence and manic outbursts. (Shut up, Tony, I know what you're thinking. Pot and Kettle, but it's _different_.) The intense silence was punctuated by her staring. Usually at me, which was incredibly disturbing. I have enough issues without someone watching my every move. Darcy's best friend Jane Foster shared a physics lab with me, and I'd wondered on more than one occasion how that particular friendship ever came about in the first place. Jane seemed so _normal_.

I probably dozed off a couple of times mid-lecture, but Professor Howlett was nice enough not to call me on it. It's possible that he just didn't notice, but I wouldn't put money on it. The man could give my father's chauffer a run for his money in observational skills, and it's been a long-running joke in my family that Heimdall sees _everything_. He noticed all right, but he didn't say anything, so I resolved to put extra effort into the next thirty-page, mind-numbingly boring paper he made us write. Least I could do.

000

On my way home after classes that afternoon, I stopped at a small convenience store and bought milk. As an afterthought, I went back and bought a carton of ice cream.

What? Just 'cause I'm a guy doesn't mean I can't enjoy ice cream after a hard day. (Please don't psychoanalyze that, Tony, it doesn't mean _anything_, I _swear_.)

I made it back to my apartment building in record time. The doorman apparently had the night off, because he wasn't there when I reached for the handle. I was pulling the door open when I paused.

It was really quiet.

Instantly, I abandoned the door and slipped into the shadows under the awning. Reaching into the inside pocket of my long coat, I pulled out my Glock handgun and carefully kept my finger along the barrel. Glocks don't have a safety, so I had to make sure I didn't touch the trigger until it was necessary. I set down my bag of groceries as quietly as possible and tried not to breathe loudly.

Someone had been following me for days. I never saw them, but that didn't mean I couldn't tell they were there. I could _feel _them, as stupid as it sounds. The hair on the back of my neck would prickle, my eyes would catch a glimpse of something not quite right, and then they'd be gone, disappearing into whichever crowd I was stuck in at the moment.

Did I mention that I _hate_ people?

I tried to calm myself down. _Okay, Loki, _I told myself sternly. _Suck it up and stop being a baby. You're armed. You're sneaky. You're the son of one of the most dangerous men in the city. Quit your whining and start _acting _like it._

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows.

"Who's there?" I called out, cursing silently when my voice wavered a bit.

Did I get an answer? Of course not. That would be too easy. However, I did get the distinct impression that whoever was watching me had left, so I guess I got what I'd really wanted. Technically. Beggars can't be choosers and all that, and at the moment, I was definitely falling into the begging category. If it meant I could go inside and up to my apartment, I didn't much care.

I wasn't stupid though. No way was I going in through the doors. Whatever had caused the doorman to leave his post probably wouldn't be anything I wanted to encounter in the halls.

I put the Glock away and hit the fire escape. It was only after I was safely inside my apartment –having opened the window from outside (and wouldn't _that _be pleasant to explain to the landlord?)– that I realized I'd left my milk and ice cream by the front door. _Snapdragons._

Thoroughly ticked off, I slammed my satchel down on the kitchen table and flung my coat onto a chair. Ignoring the envelope full of cash sitting in the middle of the table, I stalked to the refrigerator and opened it, hoping for something to magically appear that I could eat. Nothing did. I'd have to go shopping soon. And change the locks. Again. And install a deadbolt. If my brother wanted to keep breaking in to leave money on my kitchen table, then he was going to have to put some effort into it. I certainly wasn't going to make it easy on him. I didn't want his help.

Turning up my nose at the money, my brother, and the world in general (none of which would have cared, I'm sure, if they knew), I gathered my things and marched down the short hallway to my bedroom. And then I came out a moment later and slumped down at the table.

I know, it seems like I'm being unnecessarily snobby about the money thing, but honestly, it wasn't about being too good for charity, or trying to make it on my own without help from my family's influence. Heck, it wasn't even about my big brother _breaking into my apartment_ to try to force the help on me. I didn't want the money, not because of _where _it came from, but because of _who _it came from. I didn't want anything _they _had touched.

Okay, so maybe I should explain that last bit.

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**A/N: I began this forever ago, in South Carolina, on vacation. Took me forever to finish.**

**Please note that I have no practical knowledge of firearms, and no expert to instruct me. Everything I know, I get from fiction, and everyone knows how often **_**that **_**is mistaken. Forgive me if I fail at anything weapons-related. EDIT: Thanks so much to ninepen, who informed me that Glocks don't have a safety and helped describe an alternative to making sure Loki didn't fire accidentally.**

**And so it begins, once again. Updates are Mondays and Thursdays.**

**Next chapter: Euphemisms –it's the language of the mobs.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:"Is it madness? Is it? IS IT?" –Loki, **_**Thor**_

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and favorites, guys!**

**To the guest who reviewed 12 minutes after the first chapter went up: *finger-guns* Eyyyyy, thanks. **

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**Chapter two: Hvis du kan lese dette**

**Alternatively titled: In which Loki speaks in Euphemisms.**

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There's a man by the name of Odin d'Asgard, and he runs the biggest crime Family this side of Chicago. I say _Family_, with a capital _F_, because you can _hear _it when you say it. "The _Family_ business." "It's a _Family_ party."

Euphemisms, gotta love 'em.

The people involved in the Family are called "Uncles," regardless of whether or not they're actually anyone's uncle. If they're older than you by more than ten years, they're Uncles. Any younger than that and it's "Cousin." They all call Odin "Father," or "Allfather," if they're really kissing butt. That's them, though.

I call him Dad.

Okay, apparently I'm going to have to go back to the very beginning after all.

I've always known what my family did for a living, ever since I was old enough to understand what "Mafia" meant. My older brother, Thor, never kept secrets from me, and so as soon as he figured out that I knew something shady was going on, he sat me down and explained everything. Thor is six years older than me (at the time, sixteen to my ten), so he'd been let in on the secret years ago.

My parents tried to hide it, I think. They never talked "business" in front of me, and as far as they knew, I really thought that the dozens of "uncles" that came and went were all my parent's brothers. (If I didn't know that they were trying to protect me, I'd probably have been a little insulted that they actually thought I was that dumb.)

Anyway, they tried keeping me in the dark for as long as possible, but I blew that out of the water the night I wandered down to the kitchen at three in the morning, wanting something to drink. I was eleven years old, half asleep, and completely unsurprised to find my mother, my father, and my UncleTyr, all trying to be as quiet as possible as they stitched up a hole in Tyr's side. I still don't know all the details of what had happened earlier that night, but I do know that when I walked into the kitchen, all activity stopped abruptly and the sputtering started as all three of them started trying to come up with an explanation for what I was seeing.

I ignored all of that and focused on the really important issue here.

"Oh my _god_! Seriously? _On the kitchen table_? We _eat _here! I mean, geez, what's wrong with a _bedroom_? You know, with an actual _bed _that would be _much _more comfortable for the man who is currently _bleeding on the kitchen table_? And _just_ to reiterate: _kitchen table_!"

I got my drink and went back up to bed, still muttering to myself about unsanitary eating conditions and bleach. My parents and Uncle Tyr watched me go. I didn't look back, but I'm pretty sure at least one of their mouths was hanging open.

The next morning, my dad sat me down and calmly asked me what I knew, how I knew it, and if I had told anybody. As near as I can recall, the conversation went something like this:

"Hey, Loki, c'mere for a minute." He gestured towards his study.

I protested. "But it's time for breakfast! We can't be late for breakfast."

"Your mother will understand."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. Mom most certainly would _not _understand. Meal times were sacred to my mother. Miss one that she had designated, and you just guaranteed yourself a spot on her _List_ for the rest of the day. Frigga d'Asgard's _List _was not a place you wanted to find yourself. For any amount of time.

"This time, she will. Trust me." He smiled a little as he said it. We went into the study.

"Okay, kiddo. Let's talk about what you saw last night."

Eloquently, I said, "Huh?"

"In the kitchen."He sounded very patient. Almost like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. Looking back, that's probably how he saw it.

"The kitchen?" (Gimme a break, I was half-asleep when it happened. He actually expected me to _remember _something that happened in the middle of the night? Please. I'm awesome, but that's stretching it for an eleven year old kid.)

Still patiently, "With Uncle Tyr."

"Oh! What about it?"

"What do you know?" He sounded like he wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose. He does that sometimes, when he gets frustrated. Or exasperated. Or disturbed. Or weirded out. Or has to deal with me, which pretty much covers all of the above.

I shrugged."Not much. Just that you and Mom were putting stiches into him last night _on the freaking kitchen table_."

"Can we please focus here?" (For future reference, he says this when he wants to change the subject.)

"Look, Dad," I said, trying to be reassuring."I know everybody's been trying to 'protect my innocence' or whatever, but it's really not necessary. I know."

"Know _what_?!" He really did pinch his nose here.

I shrugged again. "What _don't _I know? I know that you don't really make your money from the construction business. I know that Thor doesn't actually have an afterschool job –at least not a legal one. I know that Uncle Tyr isn't my uncle any more than he's your brother. I know that last night, he got on someone's bad side, got himself knifed, and couldn't go to the hospital. I know what kind of business you have to be in to have that happen. You want me to say it?"

"That's… probably not necessary."

I said it anyway. "Mob. Mafia. Whatever. Thor's pretty screwy with the _exact_ details sometimes, y'know?"

"Does anybody else know?" (Translation, for all you non-Mob-speakers out there – ahem, _Tony_: Have you told anyone outside _The Family_?)

I gave him a Look. It was a good Look. I'd learned it from him. "Yes, Father. I told all my friends at school that my dad is a major mob boss. They all want autographs, by the way."

Maybe it was the tone of voice, or maybe it was my use of the mob-term "Father" for him, something I never called him, but either way, he picked up on the sarcasm.

"Good boy," he said, beaming at me. Now that potential security risks were taken care of, he was thrilled to have his whole family in the know. I could understand. Keeping secrets from an eleven year old genius is pretty daunting, even when your secrets _aren't _as hot as my family's.

(Yeah, Tony, I said genius. No, I'm neither bragging nor exaggerating. I am a genius. You know this. I got tested and everything.)

So anyway, that was how the big reveal went down. Once informed that they no longer had to tip-toe delicately around the Allfather's youngest, the Family collectively breathed a sigh of relief and went on with their business –this time, more or less openly.

(And, for the record, I did later find out that we're actually just "Mob," not "Mafia." We aren't sophisticated enough to be Mafia. Turns out underworld criminal scum are snobs: who knew?)

Now, at this point, I'm sure you're wondering how I went from, "Hey, it's cool, dude, my dad is the Mob," to, "Holy crap, Thor, stop leaving mob blood money on my kitchen table."

(Right, so maybe it's obvious now that I _really _have issues with mob stuff on the kitchen table. You can add that to the surely-growing list of things we have to talk about in our next session, Tony.)

Sometimes, I'm positive that I was adopted. I mean, out of a whole family of blond, tanned gods and goddesses, I'm like the pale, black-haired mortal who tags along as best he can and screws up a lot. Thor and I have almost nothing in common, and don't even get me started on my dad. I'm not even sure he knows _how _to raise children, which is why I'm still surprised that I've managed to stay alive this long.

But the whole mob thing was barely a blip on my radar. So my dad had some kind of racketeering/money laundering/smuggling… thing going on underneath his construction company. So what? My family had always done things this way. I saw nothing wrong, because I'd never known anything different. And, now that I "knew," they were all so _very_ eager to teach me tricks of the trade. By the time I was thirteen, I could pick a lock faster than anyone of the uncles, and the Family had taken to calling me "Liesmith," since I was particularly adept at crafting… fictions. (For you out there who don't speak Euphemism, that one means I'm a crackin' good liar.)

I was –if not active– at least _involved _somewhat in my family's business. Or, rather, I thought I was. In fact, it wasn't until I was eighteen that I realized how much they were still keeping from me. Or keeping me .

The point is, I'd never been asked to participate in anything more than smuggling a few dirty boxes of cigars or maybe boosting some cars (yes, we also steal cars: welcome to the high life). Since I was a teenager, and thus pretty morally screwed-up anyway, this didn't really bother me. I'd never encountered the _really _dirty part of "dirty business."

Then, the spring of my eighteenth year (geez, did that sound pretentious or _what_?), my father received a death threat from an anonymous enemy.

I was just coming out of school for the day when they grabbed me. I was blindfolded and stuck in the back of a van. All they did was drive around for a few hours and scare me silly, before sending me home with a note pinned to my sweater. A _note_. Like I was a kindergartner who couldn't deliver a message properly.

The note was pretty standard mob stuff. Blah, blah, blah, we don't like you, blah, blah, stop doing whatever you're doing that we don't like, blah, blah, we will take steps if you don't do as we say, blah.

Nobody took it seriously. In the mob, getting death threats is like a badge of honor. It's almost the same as for cops. You know what they say: if you aren't getting death threats then you aren't doing your job right. Well, in the mob, if you aren't getting death threats then you must be behind on your pissing people off quota for the month. Get cracking. This sort of thing came with the territory for my dad.

The only one who was really affected was me.

I will say this about my father: he may not be the most morally straight man in existence, but he absolutely will not tolerate anyone messing with his kids. I had a 24/7 bodyguard, effective immediately. I was followed everywhere, including to school. This, naturally, did _wonders _for my social life.

I've always been a little… well, the term my mother uses is "high-strung." My brother says I'm "extra-sensitive." My father, of course, throws the euphemisms out the window and calls it what it is. "Loki, you're a jumpy, moody little basket-case." I don't deal well with crowds, or really loud noises, or too much sensory input of any kind. I also have issues with being stared at and with having people in my personal space. And I do _not _have OCD, no matter what Fandral says.

Seriously, I don't. Just because I've cleaned my apartment six times in one day before does _not_ mean I have a problem. (Oh, Tony, I can hear you now, tapping away at that little tablet of yours…)

The point is, I have issues. Before the whole kidnapping thing, they were manageable and not a major problem. But then I was being essentially stalked by my own family members, followed everywhere, without ever knowing exactly _who _was going to be there, or _where_ they would be. It was nerve wracking.

I lasted until the end of school.

First thing after graduation, at dinner with my family, I sat there very calmly cutting my steak into miniscule, sliver-thin pieces and told my father that I wanted out. Out of the Business and out from under the people who were stalking my life.

My entire family went nuts. Thor started begging me not to leave, promising me anything and everything if I would only stay. My mother started tearing up.

My father, who has a better head on his shoulders than either of them, rolled his eyes and told me to stop being so melodramatic.

"I'm serious," I said.

"So am I," he shot back. "Loki, you can't possibly think that we're just going to let you leave us."

Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. "Geez, is _that_ what all the fuss is about? Mom, Thor, I'm not _leaving_. I mean, I _am,_ for college and my own apartment and stuff, but I'm not cutting all ties or whatever crap you were thinking. It's the _Family_ I don't want to be a part of anymore, not the_ family_."

I'm not the only one who can hear that capital letter. Every single one of them instantly relaxed.

"Oh," said my father, clearly relieved. "Is that all? Well, son, I can't say I exactly approve, but if this is what you want…"

"It is," I said firmly. "I don't want anything more to do with the Life."

He gave me a pitying look. "You do know that most of our money comes from the Life, right?"

I nodded tightly. "I know. I'll pay my own way through college, don't worry about me."

"You don't have to do that," Thor started.

I cut him off. "Yes, I do. Look," I said, giving them my sternest glare. "How about this. I promise to keep in touch, and you guys leave me out of the Business. Fair enough?"

They didn't like it, especially Odin, who, I think, especially felt like I was trying to undermine his authority somehow, but they eventually agreed. Within a month, I was moved out of the d'Asgard mansion (which, for some inexplicable reason, is named Yggdrasil), had my own apartment across the city, and was enrolled at Roger's University for the coming fall. I was not, actually, paying my own way, but my mother put her foot down on this one and I bowed to the inevitable. My family paid for my schooling, and I paid for everything else.

And okay, I guess I didn't do as good a job keeping in touch as I should have, at least not by Thor's standards, because it wasn't long before I was being followed again.

I _hate_ that.

I got jumpy. I was moody and nervous and nearly 100% more homicidal than I used to be. I started playing with knives, which freaked my brother out more than it should have, considering he's the one who taught me how to use them. It wasn't long before I began identifying my tails and giving them the slip. I stalked them right back, sneaking up and scaring the daylights out of them.

My father was less than impressed. I told him to call off the guard dogs. He told me to stop being so impossible and childish. I gave this the ever-so mature response of slamming the phone down.

It all came to a head the night my Uncle Bedwyr broke into my apartment while I was sleeping and I woke up and nearly threw a knife straight through his eye. The resulting fall-out of this disproportionate response led to my apparent psychological breakdown, during which I ranted and screamed and cried and scared the heck out of my family before declaring that I would have peace and privacy if I had to move to Canada to get it. This, naturally, horrified everyone, so my father agreed to call off the guards, provided I started seeing a therapist. Apparently having a breakdown is not something that healthy people do, and I was in need of counseling. I, being… well, me, naturally acquiesced to this with all the grace of a stampeding elephant, but acquiesce I did, which is how I came to be writing this account.

I tended to change therapists a lot, each time at their request. (Mazel tov, Tony. You've lasted longer than any other therapist I've had. And yes, I know that four months is not a good record.) Whether this was because they couldn't handle me, or because my father decided he didn't like them for some reason, I don't know, and truthfully, I didn't even care at that point. I was free.

Sort of.

The truth is, when your family is The _Family_, freedom is relative. I was out of the house and out of the Business, but I found out pretty quickly that I wasn't ever going to be out of the Life. It's not something you _do_, it's something you live.

That's why they call it "The Life."

And yeah, that's another euphemism, Tony.

000

Fast-forward a year and a half, and there I was, just about to turn twenty years old, and sitting in my apartment, staring glumly at my kitchen table, upon which rested an envelope filled with the hard-earned cash of… someone else, and trying to decide if it was worth it to call Thor and complain.

Deciding it wasn't, I stood up and stretched, gave the money one last glare, and then shuffled off to bed.

Someone had been lurking around my apartment, my classes were piling up, my brother was breaking _into_ my apartment, and I hadn't gotten to have any ice cream.

Hopefully things would look better in the morning.

Yeah, I don't even know who I thought I was kidding.

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**A/N: Canada sounds great, actually, so don't take the above declaration as an opinion of the author. Loki's a little brat.**

**Next chapter: School daze doesn't even begin to cover it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: "That was just a bit of fun, really." –Loki, **_**Thor**_

**A/N: This chapter became unexpectedly long. This is a good thing. I think. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to the guest reviewer who asked where Darcy is… voila! **

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**Chapter 3: Du må være norsk**

**Alternatively titled: In which Loki encounters "normal people."**

* * *

The next morning, my physics professor, Dr. Eric Selvig, stared down at me from his perch atop his lectern.

"So, Mr. d'Asgard," he rumbled, "you've decided to grace us with your presence."

Let me tell you something. When I was in high school, I heard all these glory stories from graduates and almost-graduates who said that no college professor would even care if you show up to class, as long as you got the work turned in. This is a lie. They care. Particularly if you show up _late_.

Not, that is, that I was the only straggler. I was far from the last to "grace the class with my presence," but Professor Selvig and I have been… at odds ever since. Well. Ever since we met, really. He just doesn't like me. I wonder why.

"Apologies, Professor. I'd forgotten that _nothing_ is more important on Tuesday morning than your _gracious_ assent to impart to us your _ineffable_ wisdom."

Oh yeah. That's why.

"Loki," Professor Selvig said, rubbing his temples, "it is too flipping early for this. Sit down, let me get back to my lecture, and _please_, try to keep your opinions to yourself, just this once?"

Snapping off a sarcastic salute, I said, "I'll do my best, sir."

He rolled his eyes as I hurried to my seat. Clint Barton, Selvig's TA, was giving me a dirty look. I huffed in exasperation. Selvig was a shifty-eyed, hard-nosed, stubborn jawbreaker of a man. He didn't need Mr. Grumpy Pants to save him from my scorn.

It wasn't like he didn't have enough of his own.

Escaping from Selvig's class with a mountain of physics homework and an unpleasant sneer from Barton, I stumbled my way to the astro-physics lab. Since I'm not actually _in _astro-physics, I shouldn't have been allowed in there, but I think the astros felt sorry for me, a fellow geek with no home base of my own. There isn't exactly a pyrotechnics lab at Roger's, so I sneaked my stuff into the astro lab and tried not to make anything explode without warning.

(Yeah, Tony, I like to blow things up. I'm a physics/chemistry major, that's what we _do._Let's talk about _that_ at our next session, why don't we.)

I say "fellow geek" but I'm really not sure I even count in this case. I mean, there are geeks, and then there are astro-geeks. When they talk, people's heads spin. Mine doesn't, but that's only by the miracle of chance and the fact that three days after setting up shop in their lab, I Googled a ton of stuff about astro-physics in the hope of being able to carry on a conversation without giving myself a headache. I remembered all of it too, which is why I now know a lot of useless information about things like Einstein-Rosen bridges.

At least they don't speak Klingon. I don't think I could handle that.

I gave the astros a sort of vague half-smile-and-wave thing before retreating to my corner of the lab, hoping that none of them would talk to me. I had about reached my limit for personal interaction for the day.

I was setting up my current project when I felt eyes on me and looked up to find Darcy Lewis staring at me. I then took a moment to be a total hypocrite and wonder what the heck she was even doing in the astro-physics lab.

Now, for your sake, Tony, it's probably best that I explain a bit about this staring, wild-haired creature who keeps popping up in this narrative.

Darcy Lewis was a short, crazy-eyed bundle of attitude, endowed like a Valkyrie, with a mouth like a sailor. She could talk the ears off an elephant. Probably without even noticing she'd done it. She's the one person I know who _might _be more spastic than I am. She's a political science major, but you wouldn't know it to look or speak to her. I'm not even sure she actually knows what political science _is_. I've sure as snapdragons never seen her do any work that might be considered political (or science, for that matter). She spends a lot more of her time in the astro-physics department, where her best friend, Jane Foster works. (Or lives, rather, because I've never seen Jane Foster outside of her lab.) Darcy hangs around, running errands, getting coffee, and looking confused.

Everyone _loves _her, which was annoying for me personally, because I didn't. She was creepy. I mean, what was with the staring? Did she have _nothing _better to do than watch me move chemicals around? And when we were in class, I swear she was looking at me more than she was at the professor.

I couldn't figure out if she did it because she had some sort of weirdo crush on me, or because she thought _I_ was weird. For a while I entertained the idea that she had some kind of mental illness for which strange fixations were part of the symptoms, but a quick background check (conducted by snooping through hacked office files) revealed that this was inaccurate. Darcy Lewis was in disgustingly excellent mental health. In fact, said her file, she was sharp as a tack.

(For the record, I resent that statement. Having mental issues does _not_ exclude you from the ranks of the edged push-pins. I mean, look at me.)

Anyway, after an initial period of two weeks during which I waited for Miss Lewis to a) confess her undying love for me, or b) try to kill me with her mind, I decided upon a course of action that was perfectly satisfactory for myself, but was probably unaccountably frustrating for her. (In other words, my _modus operandi_.) Put simply, when Darcy came wandering in my direction, I turned and walked the other way.

(Put more complicatedly, it involved a whole lot of hiding in broom closets and dodging around corners. I think the campus janitor thinks I have some sort of disturbing fascination with cleaning supplies. I tend to avoid him too these days, if I can.)

I sneaked a glance in Darcy's direction under my arm. To my complete lack of surprise, she was staring at me again. I was really starting to wonder about this now. Wasn't she here to see Jane Foster?

"Um, do you need something?" I asked finally.

She blinked. "What? Oh, no, I'm fine." She looked down. I nodded slowly and went back to my experiment.

Twenty minutes later, I gathered my things, shut down my Bunsen burner, and stowed my blowtorch. I caught a glimpse of Darcy behind me in a reflective bit of glass as I left the lab.

She didn't see me seeing, but she was staring again.

000

"Loki!"

"Oh, Norns," I muttered, turning around reluctantly.

Phil Coulson beamed at me, his hands full of pamphlets. "Hey, Loki! Have you given any thought to what we were talking about?"

I tried not to grimace. Coulson had been trying to get me to join this weird campus organization since we'd met, several months ago. S.H.I.E.L.D. (Students Helping to Integrate Everyone into Life and Destiny) was supposed to be a very fulfilling choice of extracurricular. At least that's what it said on the thirty or so pamphlets Coulson had given me over the course of our acquaintance. Personally, I thought it sounded sort of like a cult. They were probably brainwashing people or training them as special agents and super-soldiers. Bioengineering them maybe. Whatever. Coulson was weird.

(Stop making that face, Tony. I know I have an overactive imagination. Don't _even _act like that surprises you.)

Coulson dropped into the seat across from mine in the cafeteria. I glared pointedly, hoping he'd take the hint. He didn't.

"_Loki_," he said earnestly, and God _help_ him if he said my name like that one more time. "SHIELD could really use some good PR. We need you."

I stared at him. Was it possible that he was unaware of my general state of black sheep-ness around campus? "Phil," I said back, pointing my fork at him. "If _good _PR is what you want, you should really try someone else." I had enough issues of my own without SHIELD butting in to help me "manage my destiny" or whatever.

"But _Loki_," he tried, and I was seriously _this_ close to stabbing him with my fork right then, "you're _so _smart, and you have this, this… _light _about you. I'm _sure _that you'd be a _perfect _fit for SHIELD."

I must have looked _really _unimpressed, because he blushed and squirmed a little. "Sorry," he said nervously. "Too much?"

"Yeah," I told him, "just a little." He looked sheepish and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

"Sorry," he said again. "I can get carried away sometimes." He looked hopeful. "If I tone it down some, will you consider coming to one of our meetings?"

I sighed the ever-weary sigh of every self-inflicted loner forced by circumstance to participate in group activities. "If I say yes, will you stop bugging me about it?" I said.

Phil's entire face lit up. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes, thanks, Loki, you _won't_ regret this, I _swear_!"

"I'm already regretting it," I muttered. "I haven't promised to _come_, Phil," I tried to curb the enthusiasm. "Just that I'd _consider_ it."

I doubt he even heard me. He was on cloud nine, gathering pamphlets and scrambling to his feet. "We meet on Wednesday nights," he said, giving me an outrageously sunny smile. "Seven o'clock, but you can be a little early if you want. Or a little late," he added. Ah. So he was _not _unaware of my less-than-stellar time-management skills. He obviously just didn't care.

S.H.I.E.L.D. must've been _really _hard-up for new members this semester.

000

As I made my way through the rest of my classes, I couldn't help glancing over my shoulder nervously. I was fairly certain I wasn't being followed by anyone in the Family, for two reasons. One, I would've seen them by now. Whatever was following me was totally invisible. Two, Canada. I could and would still carry out that threat, and my family knew it. Since I was sure that the stalker was _not _a familiar one, I took evasive measures. When you've spent most of your life being tailed, in one way or another, there are a few things you pick up. I'm sure a satellite map of my journey across campus to the bus stop resembled the path of an ant with ADHD on crack, but if it kept me safe, I didn't even care that I passed by the same canoodling couple (seated on a bench outside the library) three times.

Much.

Really. Not much.

Okay, so I did care, a little. They were seriously getting intense, though. I mean, that was some major league canoodling going on there. The first time I passed by, I honestly thought he was trying to eat her neck.

(No, Tony, I don't think vampires are real.

Anymore.)

Today's experience with public transportation was no more pleasant that yesterday's had been, with the added awfulness of knowing that any second, I could be jumped, kidnapped, or gutted by an unseen person, for unknown reasons.

I hate buses. I think I've mentioned that before, but I really, _really _hate them. They make me crazy. And no, that is not a euphemism, a metaphor, or an exaggeration. Buses exacerbate my symptoms. Don't believe me? I can prove it.

For example: someone bumped into me while getting off at his stop, and I nearly stuck a knife in his kidney. I have it on good authority (i.e. my father) that this is something called Disproportionate Retribution, and is not A Good Thing.

My father, though generally endeavoring to be patient with me and my various tendencies toward the psychotic, occasionally has expressed his frustration with my inability to just… _settle down_ and be _normal_.

I want to make something clear here which I'm sure you, Tony, already know, but I feel should be stated anyway. I am not _mentally ill_, by clinical standards. The official diagnosis was a cocktail of hyperactivity and hypersensitivity. In other words, said the children's mental health specialist my parents took me to, I'm super smart, super sensitive about it, and super obnoxious as a result of that sensitivity. The smartness is self-explanatory, the sensitivity lead to things like obsessive cleaning and my intense dislike of being stared at, as well as my general moodiness.

I personally think the obnoxiousness has nothing to do with my medical diagnosis and everything to do with the influences I grew up with.

Anyway, my father and I haven't always seen eye to eye, and after I decided to go against everything I was raised as, to leave the Family, it seems I can't ever make him happy. This includes my choice of profession. He doesn't think it's a valid occupation.

"Loki," he told me, "performing 'magic acts' is _not_ a valid occupation."

"Dad," I said back, "what exactly do _you_ consider 'valid'?"

"Can we please focus here?" he said, and that was that. We agreed to disagree on the subject of my employment.

Well, actually, he argued and cajoled and ordered, and then eventually caved when I threatened Canada again, but saying that we agreed to disagree sounds better. A bit less like I'm just a bratty kid who throws tantrums when I don't get my way. Even if I do. Sometimes.

I got off the bus on the stop before mine. If my stalker was on the bus with me, I didn't want to lead them straight to my work. That would be bad. Astronomically bad. I mean, there are kids there.

Walking the few blocks left to the play center, I began preparing myself mentally for the afternoon. I had one performance at the play center, and then I'd probably get roped into playing with some of the kids by way of them being adorable and me being a sucker for anything with eyes big enough to make me feel guilty.

(This is how Thor always gets his way, I am sure of it.)

"Hi, Loki!"

I pulled out a smile as I stepped through the door my employer was holding open. "Hello, Ms. Munro," I said quietly. "Full house today?"

She beamed at me. "Naturally. They knew you were coming today."

I shook my head as I slipped by her to get to the little room I used as a dressing room. "I really think you might be exaggerating my ability to command the attention and excitement of a roomful of children, Ms. Munro."

She tilted her head, leaning in the doorway of my room. "Oh, I don't think so. And please, Loki, we've been over this. Call me Ororo."

I grinned and nodded, just like I always did. And then, also as I always did, I said, "Whatever you say, Ms. Munro," and then quickly closed the door.

"Brat," she called through the wood. I could hear the smile in her voice. Relaxing against the wall for a minute, I allowed myself a brief moment of content. All was as it should be.

I straightened. Alright then. Show time.

000

The crowd was my usual one, with a few new faces that had probably moved into the neighborhood recently. Ms. Munro paid me to come in once a week and entertain the children. Where she got the money, I have no idea. The whole program was funded by an outside benefactor or something. Ororo Munro's play center was a cross between a daycare and a playground. Age ten and up could come and go as they pleased. Any younger than that and Ms. Munro insisted that someone come to pick the kid up. There were few rules, most of them being the sort that would keep everyone from killing each other. With almost no structure, no organized activity, and at least ten children running around at any given time, it was about three steps away from total chaos. It was everything I loathed at Yggdrasil, everything that had ever bothered me about school or clubs or social activities.

I loved it.

"Loki!" squealed one of the kids when she saw me step out on the makeshift stage. "He's here, guys!" she yelled hysterically. "Loki's here!"

Instantly, there was a small stampede of little feet, hurrying to get the best seats, on the floor, right in front of the stage. I'll admit, it was sort of gratifying. These were the kids that never sat still for anything if they didn't have to. Even when eating their snacks, they would get up and walk around, or spin in circles. Or sit under the table and rock back and forth.

The Center has a few kids that remind me of myself sometimes.

I looked over my audience, noting regulars and spotting one or two I hadn't seen before. There was little Scott, shyly holding hands with a little redhead named Jean, and next to them were the twins, Pietro and Wanda, who were fighting, as usual. A little boy wrapped in a big coat sat a little ways away from them. As he turned to look at me, the light caught his eyes in an odd way, making them appear almost red. I blinked and the color was back to normal, a deep reddish-brown. He turned and whispered to another new face, a little girl with a big streak of white in her otherwise auburn hair. She glared at him, but then laughed and punched him gently. Another little red head (what was up with this group, today?) inched closer to the stage and I smiled when I recognized Natasha. I spotted Leah, and then Susan and Johnny edged in and sat down and the group was complete.

Conjuring up a smile, I threw my hands wide.

"Are you ready!?"

As always, that first exclamation both startled and got their attention, and I had a rapt audience.

I started simply, pulling coins out of the air and spinning a deck of cards through the air, flipping them from hand to hand and creating bridges without a table. After the appropriate oohs and ahhs, I moved on to the new stuff I had been working on for them.

I turned a plastic cup into a plate with a little sleight of hand, and then asked for a volunteer. Handing Natasha a plastic spoon, I told her not to be afraid, and then asked her to chop my hand off with it. Giving me a skeptical glance (the girl lived in a pretty rough neighborhood: she knew _exactly _what would cut someone, and a spoon wasn't it) but complying, she gasped sharply when my hand disappeared as she sawed at my wrist with the spoon. Dropping the utensil, she backed away with a whimper, big eyes filling with tears. Quickly, I let out a theatrical groan and feigned strain as I shoved my hand out of my fake sleeve and waved it at her cheerily.

After letting her examine the hand carefully and see for herself that she hadn't hurt me, I sent her back to her seat with a silver dollar for helping me and continued the act.

My final act was one I needed Ororo's permission for. She had this silly little hang up on me using pyrotechnics. I assured her time and time again that it was perfectly safe for the children, and that I would personally be engineering everything. For some reason, this didn't reassure her all that much. This particular trick, however, was an easy one, and wouldn't be dangerous at all, so she reluctantly agreed to let me try it out.

"And now," I announced, "for my final act, I will need you all to be very calm. Understand?"

Everyone nodded eagerly and I smirked, flourishing my hands dramatically. I usually wear a cape for these sorts of things, but I had rushed out of the apartment to get to Selvig's class on time today, and had forgotten it. I took a vindictive moment to blame Selvig for the fact that my performance wasn't as dramatic as it usually was, then focused.

Taking a deep breath, I flung both of my arms up, letting the sleeve of my shirt slide down slightly to barely expose the trigger I had in my palm. The kids couldn't see it –too short– but Ororo could, which was sort of the point. I didn't _need _to uncover the trigger, I just did it so she could see what I was doing. (I never tell people that old line, "Nothing in my hands, nothing up my sleeves," because it would be a blatant lie. There's _always _something in my hands or up my sleeves, just like any good magician.)

As I brought my arms down, hard and fast, I snapped my fingers and pressed the trigger. Immediately, a flash went off with a bang and I stepped backwards, offstage and behind the curtain, leaving behind a column of smoke. Ignoring the cries of alarm-tinged delight, I reached into a box and pulled out a squirming bundle of black fur. Dropping it on the stage, I withdrew even further, out of sight.

When the smoke cleared away, a minute later, all that was left on the stage was a black-furred kitten with huge green eyes and a disdainful expression on its face. Squeals erupted from the ecstatic children and Ororo had to quickly shush them in order to avoid spooking the cat. She needn't have worried. This cat was perfectly used to chaos and excitement. I'd picked her up from the animal shelter a week ago, intending to make a present of her to the Center. I'd left food and medical information in Ororo's office, knowing that she'd understand what they were for when she saw them.

"But where's Loki?" I heard Leah ask above the exhilaration of the kitten's appearance. Instantly, attention shifted slightly –everyone else was wondering the same thing, even if not as acutely, considering there was a _kitten_…

"I think this _is _Loki!" came Natasha's startled shriek. One by one, they all turned to stare at the kitten again, seated comfortably in Ororo's lap and… licking itself. Nice. Ceasing its ablutions when it sensed eyes upon it, the darn thing just stared back at the kids nonchalantly, yawning delicately and tilting its head: doing nothing, I might add, to take away from their theory that the cat was me.

This was the point, of course, so I let it continue for a few more minutes before Leah said reluctantly, "But he can't _stay _like this, can he?"

That was my cue, and I stepped forward, snapping my fingers once more and setting off more smoke. When it cleared, I spread my hands and said, "Well, what do you think of my friend, here?"

"Loki!" they cried, rushing forward. "You're not a kitten!"

I smirked. "I should hope not. I simply had to go away for a minute to let you get used to the little guy. Well? Do you like him?"

"We love him!" they all screamed at once. Even as I winced at the shrillness, I grinned at the sudden look of exasperation Ororo was sending me. She'd just gotten it.

"Would you like to keep him?" I pressed on, smiling sweetly at Ms. Munro, who glared at me ineffectually.

"Oh, _can _we, Oro?" Scott begged, turning to the lady. He'd never been able to say her name properly.

She looked torn. "Well, Scott… I mean… it's a big responsibility…"

"We'll help take care of him!" Natasha cried, eagerly dashing forward to stroke the kitten's ear with one gentle finger. "Promise!"

Ororo wavered. "Well…"

A tug on her sleeve stopped her briefly and she looked down to see Johnny staring at the kitten with a look of awestruck adoration on his little face, clinging to his sister's hand as if afraid to touch the animal.

Even Ororo "No Nonsense" Munro isn't immune to that look in Johnny Storm's innocent little eyes. She caved.

"Alright."

"Yes!" Leah cheered, lunging forward to fling her arms around me. "Thank you, thank you!" she squealed. "We'll take such good care of him, we promise!"

I hugged her back, then patted her shoulder and said, "I know you will." Looking around at all of them, I asked, "What are you going to call him?"

They all looked at each other in consternation. Clearly, they hadn't even thought of that, yet. And then a small snort came from the back of the crowd.

"What else?" said the little girl with the white-striped hair, huddled close to the boy in the coat. "He'll have to be called 'Loki.'"

I blinked. Ororo smirked.

"But there's already a Loki!" Natasha cried indignantly. "We can't just give away his name!"

The little girl shrugged. "Can you seriously picture calling that cat anything else?" she asked sensibly. I could see all of their little minds starting to work, turning the idea over, weighing the options and realizing, inevitably…

"Of course," said Leah, slowly. "Of course his name is Loki. Is that alright?" she asked me anxiously.

Giving Ororo an answering grin that was more me baring my teeth at her, I said, "Of course."

Before I left, Leah came and gave me another hug. Tugging me down to her level, she whispered in my ear, "Thanks for giving us Loki, Loki." Giggling at her own cleverness, she scampered away, leaving me smiling fondly after her, with what was undoubtedly an extremely sappy look on my face. Shaking it off, I waved to Ororo and stepped out into the night.

000

"Home sweet home," I muttered to myself as I climbed the stairs to my apartment. (The elevator was broken. Again.)

Shifting my bag over one shoulder, I fished my keys out of my pocket and reached for the doorknob…

I stopped. Something wasn't right.

Slowly, I reached into my bag and pulled out my knife. I'd left the Glock at home today, not wanting to take it with me to the Center. Carefully, I reached out again and touched the door. I pushed gently at it, but it stayed shut. Locked then. Letting out a slow breath, I put the key in the lock and turned it.

I'm a locksmith, of sorts. A connoisseur of locks, if you will. I know the sound of a lock turning over properly, the little _click_ it makes when the tumblers fall into place. I personally installed the lock on my apartment door. I know _exactly _what it should sound like.

Something was off. The _click _was just a little too slow, the tumblers just a teensy bit out of sync.

I sighed.

My apartment had been broken into again. But, since the intruders had taken care to lock it up again, it was probably safe to go in. Unless whoever had broken in _knew _I'd think that way and planned accordingly. But that was ridiculous, considering that I rarely even used the door of my apartment. Usually, I came up the fire escape. But what if that was booby-trapped too? Forget this, I'd come in through the ceiling…

I stopped myself there and forced my thoughts to make sense. _Cool it, Loki. Think. Who is always breaking into your apartment? Who is constantly watching the place? Who was just here two days ago? Who do you know would never hurt you?_

Thor. Breathing a sigh of relief, I opened the door.

(Tony, it's gotta say something screwy about my life when my brother breaking into my apartment is a source of relief.)

Shuffling in through the door and kicking it shut behind me, I lifted my bag off my shoulder and over my head. I dropped it on the couch and toed my shoes off, relishing the feeling of sinking my toes into soft carpet. Reaching for the switch on the wall, I flipped it up and light flooded the living room.

"Hi, Loki!"

Considering the fact that the door had been re-locked and I had expected the intruders to have come and gone, I think I can be forgiven for my reaction.

Overreaction. Whatever.

* * *

**A/N: I feel a bit like first person POV is difficult for many people (myself included, at times) because we don't write the way we speak. No one really thinks to themselves in words like "endeavor," "disproportionate retribution," or "ineffable." Except I think I can get away with it, because this is **_**Loki**_**, and he totally **_**does **_**think like that (and speak like it, too). So. That's my insight for the day.**

**Additional, No-Longer-A-Spoiler Disclaimer: Marvel owns everybody. And if you don't know who they are, I am very sorry.**

**Also, I'm sorry that these opening chapters aren't much for plot, and are mostly exposition and stuff. Hopefully it'll pick up really soon.**

**Next Chapter: So much for normal.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: "You must be mistaken..." –Loki, **_**Thor**_

**A/N: OH MY LORD GUYS I AM SO SORRY! I cannot believe I missed Monday, planned for Tuesday, and am only just now getting around to actually posting. Sorry!**

**As always, TheBlueFoxtrot A Samba, ladies and gents. Without her help, this story would not have gotten anywhere.**

**To Mandy: Well, it's a surprise. And we shall see about Darcy!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Gratulerer**

**Alternatively titled: In which the surreal outweighs the "normal."**

* * *

My knife left my hand almost before I knew what I was doing. Four bodies went diving for cover, indignant shouts rang out, and the one body that hadn't made it out of the way let out a howl of angry pain.

I would've felt bad if it had been Thor. Really, I would, because even if he does irritate me and condescend to me and drive me _crazy_, he's still my brother and I would never want to actually hurt him.

That being said, it _wasn't_ Thor, and I had no qualms at all about throwing my knife straight at Fandral's shoulder.

It missed, of course, barely grazing him, because I am perfectly capable of controlling my weapons and I didn't want to _kill _the man.

Okay, so I did, a little, but not for real, and certainly not _permanently_. That way doth lie hospital visits and Family Meetings and my mother giving me sad, disappointed looks and I was just not psychologically in a good place to deal with crap like that right then.

"Holy _crap_, Loki! What is _wrong _with you?" Fandral cried, and okay, so I could have given him leeway for basically anything _else_ that came out of his mouth right then because, yeah, I'd just grazed him with a six-inch throwing knife, but _come on_. He was seriously asking _me that_?

I opened my mouth to defend myself, only to find that I didn't have to.

"Leave him alone, Fandral!" came Thor's rough order from behind the chair he'd overturned when knives started flying. "We startled him."

Big brother to the rescue. One day, I was sure, Thor was going to wake up, look around, and die of shock from suddenly being forced into the realization that I wasn't five years old anymore.

Still, I guess there are worse things than having your older brother defend your rights to toss around a deadly weapon. (Tony, there isn't a joke there. There really isn't. Stop looking for it. Stop. Now.)

"You need a bandage?" I asked wearily. Still a bit miffed-looking, Fandral nevertheless shook his head and managed a small wave in my direction. Sif, Hogun, and Volstagg all climbed warily to their feet and gave me a nod.

"Hi, kid. What's kickin'?" Sif greeted.

"I am," I answered. "You guys. Out of my apartment."

"Aw, Loki, don't be like that." This was Volstagg, all red hair and huge mass lumbering around my living room, picking up furniture and obviously trying to figure out who he needed to placate more, me or my brother. "We didn't mean any harm."

"Yeah, I know. You guys just broke into my home and camped out in my living room because you wanted to throw me a surprise party," I agreed sarcastically. "Clearly, I was overreacting."

"Exactly!" Volstagg beamed at me, relieved that I'd seen sense. I didn't even have the energy to roll my eyes at him. Which was fine. Hogun was taking care of that.

"Seriously," I said, "what do you guys want?"

Fandral's attempt to look innocent was even more pathetic than Thor's. "We can't just come by because we want to see you?"

Refusing to dignify that with an answer, I turned to my brother. Predictably, he caved.

"Dad wants to know when you're coming home."

"Um, this weekend? Sunday dinner is still on, right?" I can fake innocence too. Only, you know, _believably_.

He gave me a Look. "You know what he means, Loki." Oh. Apparently not _that _believably then.

"Thor," I sighed, "I'm _not _coming home permanently. You know that. _Dad_ knows that."

Stubbornly, Thor lifted his chin. "Why not?" he asked, sounding just the littlest bit wistful.

"Because I've gone straight!" I exclaimed exasperatedly. "I have a life now, outside of the Family. I can't just… go back."

"I still don't see why you left in the first place," he grumbled under his breath. I heard him anyway.

"No, of course you don't!" I snapped. "You don't get it at all, because nobody treats you the way they treat me! With me it's all, 'protect Loki,' 'don't let Loki know about such and such,' and 'make sure you keep track of Loki.' You don't get it, Thor, because Dad doesn't _smother _you!"

"He's trying to keep you safe," Thor protested, sounding kind of shocked, defending our father and making me even angrier in the process.

"Why doesn't he focus on keeping _you _safe more? You're the oldest, aren't _you _more of a target than me?" This was a bit nasty, probably, but I was too far gone to care at that point.

"Well, of _course_ he focuses more on you," Thor retorted quickly. "_I _can take care of myself."

"Are you saying I'm _not capable_ of taking care of myself?"

"_Yes_!"

That stopped me. I honestly hadn't been expecting to hear that. Neither, I think, had Thor.

"Loki," he started.

"Stop," I said, holding up a hand, suddenly feeling very tired. "Just… stop." Turning around, I headed for the kitchen, hoping that, despite my lack of grocery store trawling, food would have magically appeared in my fridge.

I opened said appliance without much enthusiasm, then closed it again very quickly. Then opened it again. And then closed it. I turned around.

Thor was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, looking both fierce and sheepish at the same time. Behind him, Sif and the Warriors Three (_Where_ do they get these _names_? I mean, _seriously_. They sound like a cheerleading squad. Or a 90's boy band.) peered anxiously around his shoulders as if afraid I was going to start throwing things again.

"You went grocery shopping for me," I said.

Thor hesitated for a second before conceding. "Yes," he admitted.

For a moment, I tried really hard to be upset with him. After all, he had just basically told me that the entire Family thought I was essentially helpless. And he had broken into my apartment. Again. But then he was looking at me with that big, blue, wide-eyed expression that said, "I hope he isn't too mad," and "I was just trying to help," and I couldn't keep it up. And he'd gone grocery shopping for me.

Sighing, I started pulling things out of the refrigerator. "Did you at least get coffee?" I asked.

000

Thor eventually kicked the Warriors Three and Sif (who used to have this enormous crush on Thor, which I found out and threatened to tell him about when I was fourteen – I ended up not doing that: Sif is really scary sometimes) out and the two of us sat at my kitchen table, sipping coffee and eating chocolate cookies.

"Did you really just come here to check up on me?" I asked finally.

Thor gave me another Big Brother Look. "Not just," he answered. "I also wished to inquire as to when you'd be coming home."

Sighing, I set down my coffee and looked him dead in the eye. "Thor," I said clearly, "I'm not coming back to the Family."

"I'm not asking that, brother," he said earnestly. "But there's no reason you cannot come back to Yggdrasil and _live_ with us at least!"

I shook my head, reaching for my mug. "It wouldn't work, Thor. You know how Dad is. We'd be fighting within a week. I don't… I _can't_ get along with him like you do."

"Loki…" he hesitated, then plunged ahead determinedly. "You know Dad _loves_ you, right?"

Surprised, I glanced up from my coffee. "Of course!" I said. The question had honestly never occurred to me. My father was many things to me. Demanding, pushy, uncompromising, and slightly terrifying at times, certainly. Sometimes I was sure he was _this_ close to locking me in my room until I either shaped up or grew up, whichever happened first. But there was never a doubt in my mind that he loved me.

Thor looked relieved. "Good," he said, standing up somewhat awkwardly. I stood as well, cautiously. I wouldn't put it past Thor to tackle me suddenly and hog-tie me, then toss me over his shoulder and take me back to Yggdrasil that way.

Hey, just because I love my brother doesn't mean I'm naïve about the kind of things he does for a living. He's totally capable of hauling me over one shoulder. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done it, either.

I had a very interesting childhood.

"You're still coming Sunday, right?" he pressed one last time, slowly making his way to the door.

Hiding my breath of relief that I wasn't going to be abducted tonight, I nodded firmly. "Of course," I said again, offering him my brightest smile. Seemingly reassured, he swallowed hard and then, somewhat to my surprise, swept me up into a bone-crushing hug. My feet dangled six inches in the air, and I tentatively put my arms around his neck in return.

"Thor?" I said, feeling a little bit worried. Not that Thor wasn't usually affectionate with me, but he generally gave me some warning when he was about to glomp me.

"Loki…" he took a deep breath and set me down, holding my shoulders. "Just… be careful, little brother," he said anxiously. "Promise me."

Confused, I said, "I promise. Thor, what –" But he was gone, slipping out my apartment door and locking it behind him.

"Okay," I said to the empty room, "that was weird."

About ten minutes later, I let out a small… ahem. Let's say, _yelp_ of frustration. (It was _not_ a shriek, Tony. Most definitely _not_.)

There was another envelope of cash on my kitchen table. In Thor's handwriting, a little note said, _Bus Fare. Love, Thor_.

* * *

**A/N: Way shorter this time. It wasn't going to be, and then… **

**Writing Thor is **_**hard**_**. Sif and the Warriors Three are even **_**harder**_**. Why is it so much easier for me to get into the mind of the canonically psychotic character?**

**Please don't answer that.**

**Next Chapter: Privacy, and how Loki never gets any of it.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: ****"It's an impressive cage. Not built, I think, for me." –Loki, **_**Avengers**_

**A/N: Because I was late with Chapter 4, you get two chapters in a row!**

* * *

**Chapter 5: På din dedikasjon**

**Alternatively titled: In which Darcy is a stalker, Phil is a fanboy, and Loki just wants to blow stuff up.**

* * *

I gotta tell you, Tony, sometimes my life is _weird._

Wednesday dawned like the bright and sunny doomsday it was. I hadn't forgotten my ill-begotten promise to Phil Coulson about attending a S.H.I.E.L.D. meeting tonight. Not to mention I had class with Professor Howlett again. It was going to be a long day.

Professor Howlett didn't say a word when I slunk in –late– to his class and slid into a seat with all the enthusiasm of a dying chrysanthemum. I appreciated this, because I was getting enough attention from Darcy Lewis without adding the entire class's on top of it.

I slogged my way through _A New Perspective on American History_ and escaped before Darcy could catch me at the door. Jogging away from class with a full book bag and an armload of papers was not the most dignified thing I'd ever done, but at that point, dignity had sort of lost most of its meaning for me.

I hit the quad with relief bubbling inside my chest and promptly dropped most of my things onto my feet. Before I could bend down to pick them up, I found myself being gently shoved aside, my books stacked in my arms, and my papers shuffled into their correct folders. Huffing, I pushed an aggravated hand through my hair and glared at my rescuers.

Hugin and Munin, my father's henchmen. Well. Henchmen was perhaps a somewhat… harsh term. But really, what else was I supposed to call them? I guess if we were using mob terms they'd be "made men," or "goombas," high-ranking members of the Family. The only reason I didn't call them "Uncle" was because I hardly ever saw them growing up. We just didn't achieve that same closeness, you know?

Hugin and Munin were Dad's go-to guys for information. The place hasn't been invented that they can't get into.

And now, I guessed, they were going to be my babysitters.

"What?" I snapped. "Get bored playing spies?" Turning on my heel, I stalked over to a nearby bench and sat down with as much indignation as I could. The Ravens followed me silently.

That's what I called them: the Ravens. They were both tall, dark haired, and thin to the point of gauntness. They looked… well, sort of like me, I guess, though I didn't like to think about that, because they used to scare me when I was a kid. (A kid. They don't scare me now. At all. Really.) Hugin hardly ever spoke, allowing his… brother, I guess, to do all the talking for both of them.

"Your father wants us to keep an eye on you," said Munin now, in his dry, raspy voice.

I scowled at him. "Why?" I whined. "I'm just doing what I always do. Going to school, going to work. I'm not off getting into trouble, or anything like that. So why does he have you guys watching me? _We had an agreement!_"

Munin shrugged. "You wanna know?" A smirk tilted across his thin lips. "You ask him yourself."

I stared at him. Aha! So that's what this was. This was my dad's idea of a way to get me to come home and _talk_. Instead of just calling, like a normal person, or even better, _waiting_ until I came over for Sunday dinner, he had to go and have me _followed_.

This was _exactly_ why I left in the first place.

"Look, guys," I snarled, "I get it, you've done your job. I'll give Dad a call tonight, okay? Just… leave me alone."

Munin shrugged and Hugin shook his head solemnly. "No can do, kiddo," Munin said. "We've got orders."

Throwing up my hands, I gathered my things again and stood up, stomping away. "Then stay out of sight, at least. Norns save me," I muttered. I didn't look back to see if my orders had been carried out. If Munin and Hugin didn't want to be seen, then they wouldn't be seen. Period.

I caught sight of Darcy out of the corner of my eye and bit back a moan of despair. What was _up _with today? It was like everywhere I turned there was someone stalking me…

"Hey, Loki," she said, peering at me with huge eyes from behind those thick-framed glasses.

"Hello," I said, as coldly as I could manage. She didn't appear to notice.

"Who were those guys?" she asked instead, and I froze, slightly. _Oh crap._

"Which guys?" I said, stalling.

"Those guys you were talking to," she answered, patiently. More patiently than I would have given her credit for, actually. Huh. Go figure. Guess when you're stalking someone, you learn to be patient.

(Take notes, Tony. We'll have a practical quiz, later.)

"Oh, them. Uh, they're. my father's... friends."

"Oh." She looked curious. "What were they doing here?"

I shifted. "I really… um, Dad had a message for me, and he asked them to deliver it."

She cocked her head to the side. "Oh. Why didn't he just call?"

Slightly discombobulated by having an actual thought in common with Darcy Lewis, I said, "Uh. I don't know. He's… weird like that, I guess."

"Oh," she said. "Cool." And then she just stared at me.

Uncomfortable, as always when she did this, I said, "Right. Well, I need to get to the lab, so…"

Darcy's face lit up. "Oh! I was just going that way. I'll walk with you."

While I was busy trying to figure out a way to decline this invitation without being _completely _rude (though I wasn't about to rule that option out, just yet), Darcy had already absconded with half of my precarious armload and walked off with it in the direction of the astro-physics lab. Cursing under my breath, I had no choice but to follow her.

I could _feel _the Ravens snickering behind me.

When we got to the lab, Jane Foster corralled her best friend, leaving me alone to blow crap up, which is both incredibly soothing and ultimately useless. I was supposed to be creating alternate forms of energy for physics class. Instead, I was mixing chemicals to make miniature fireworks.

Sometimes, I think I need therapy.

(Yes, Tony. That was a joke.)

"So," Munin sidled up to my counter and I tried _very_ hard not to set him on fire with my blowtorch. "When are you going to bring _her _to Sunday dinner?"

I glared at him. "First, _don't do that_. Second, never. She's not my girlfriend."

He shared a dubious look with Hugin, who, luckily, I'd seen coming. "Are you sure?" Munin asked.

I gritted my teeth and poured nitro-glycerin into a beaker. "Yes," I ground out. "I'm sure."

Hugin piped in thoughtfully, "Is _she _sure?"

Staring at him incredulously, I said, "What the heck? The first time you decide to talk in like, a month, and you're asking about my love life? Which doesn't exist," I added hastily, as Munin opened his mouth to pounce on that statement. "At all. I have no love life. No girlfriend. None."

"So who _is _she then?" Munin asked. "If she's not your girlfriend and she's not just some random chick –which, clearly, she isn't– then who is she?"

I rolled my eyes, glancing over my shoulder to where Darcy was, once again, staring right at me. She didn't look away when our eyes met. I did.

"She's my stalker," I muttered. Munin laughed out loud, quickly turning it into a cough when people's heads turned to look our way. So I don't usually make people laugh, so sue me.

"Your stalker," he muttered. "That's just priceless."

I couldn't help but notice that he wasn't doing his job right. I mean, I thought the point of giving me bodyguards was so that they could _prevent_ unwanted people from following me around. Not laugh about it when it happened.

I could be wrong though. The next words out of Hugin's mouth were, "But _why _isn't she your girlfriend?"

Seriously. The second time I'd heard this man speak in nearly a year and he wanted to know all about my non-existent love life. He sounded honestly confused about it too.

I was about to give Hugin my carefully thought out and well-worded answer to his obviously ridiculous question when Munin put his two-cents in again.

"Yeah, kiddo. Why _isn't _she? I mean, she's hot," he said, shrugging.

"Okay, ew. Oh my god… you're… ewwww!" I didn't care that I was practically squealing in a whisper. That was just disturbing. "You're like, twenty years older than she is! Shut up!"

He shrugged again. "So?" he asked, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of me. "Age has no bearing on love."

"Or lust," Hugin added thoughtfully, and right then I was 100% done.

"Uh, yes, actually, it does," I said, gathering up my things and giving the unused nitro-glycerin a mournful look. "It really does. And you two are gross. And weird. And I'm telling my dad on you."

Neither one of them looked nearly terrified enough by that pronouncement of doom, and I stuck my nose in the air and pointedly ignored them as I walked out of the astro-physics lab, waving at Jane Foster as I went.

They followed me anyway, of course. Predictably, so did Darcy.

My own little entourage followed me to Advanced Mathematical Reasoning. I could only sigh in relief when I left that class to find only Hugin and Munin waiting outside.

Unfortunately, when I went back to the lab later that day, I found her there, yet again, and this time she grinned at me like we were friends now. I scowled and started mixing chemicals.

000

I shot a despairing look over my shoulder at Darcy. She smiled a little and waved at me cheerily, turning on her heel and leaving me standing on the threshold of the classroom. She was probably heading back to the astro-physics lab, which just _proved _my theory that she'd only _left _in the first place to stalk me. Munin and Hugin were conveniently and conspicuously nowhere to be seen. Snarling, I turned back to face my doom.

Phil Coulson's head popped out of the classroom door and his face lit up when he saw me. "Loki!" he said, happily. "You made it!"

Tightly, I managed a small smile. "Yes," I said, hoping that would suffice for both small talk and participation for the evening.

Phil beamed at me. "You know, Loki," he said, drawing back to let me into the classroom, "I really feel you're making the right choice. S.H.I.E.L.D. presents soooo many opportunities…"

I tuned him out, focusing instead on possible escape routes and trying to get a fix on the entryways to the room.

I hate groups. I hate clubs. I hate working with other people. I'm just… not a team player. Especially with _these _people. They were so… happy. And eerily similar in dress and personality. Surely it wasn't normal to be so… peppy?

And then, as if the cheer and the matching shoes weren't enough, it got worse.

"Loki," Professor Howlett grunted. "Didn't expect to see you here."

I shrugged awkwardly. Muttered, "Makes two of us."

He might have smiled a little. It was hard to tell. Either way, he jerked his head to the side and said, "Don't mind me. I'm just the adult supervision." I nodded, following Phil into the torture cham –the classroom, and trying to wrap my head around the way my entire view of the universe was completely being Jossed. _Professor Logan Howlett _was the faculty advisor for S.H.I.E.L.D.? It was… mind boggling. Also, really scary. The brainwashing theory was starting to look like an actual possibility.

Mentally, I tallied up the likelihood of being influenced against my will to kill someone and shrugged. My level of general homicidal feelings was pretty flexible anyway. It honestly probably wouldn't take much to convince me to kill someone. It possibly wouldn't even be unwillingly, depending on the person.

"Who invited_ him_?"

Case in point. I pasted on my most charmingly obnoxious smile. "Clint! Wonderful to see you, too."

"Save it, d'Asgard," Barton growled. "I'm not interested in fighting with you tonight."

"Pity," I sneered. "And here I was _so_ looking forward to it."

"Gentlemen," Phil inserted himself between us with more dexterity than I would've given him credit for. "Clint, I invited Loki. Be nice, he's a guest."

Rolling his eyes, Barton stepped back and shrugged. "Whatever," he said, turning on his heel and stalking away.

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Very mature, that. I can feel myself being integrated into destiny already."

Phil gave me a look that might have been disapproval if it had been anybody else. "Loki…" he sighed. "I thought you were going to make an effort."

I gave him a suspicious look. "Did you? And who exactly told you that? _I_ didn't say that. I would have remembered." I hadn't suddenly developed a split personality had I? One that apparently ran around making nice with Phil Coulson. This could be serious.

"Just…" he looked frustrated enough that I took pity on him.

"Alright," I heard myself say. "I'll do my best." He looked so immensely relieved that I was instantly suspicious. What exactly was going on with SHIELD that made Phil so nervous?

_Loki, chill,_ I told myself. _You see conspiracies everywhere, you know that? There are words for people like you. They generally start with "paranoid" and often end with "psychotic break." Get over yourself._

Weirdly enough, using my father's words to snap myself out of it was not really all that effective. Imagine that.

Phil settled me into a seat at the front of the room, then stood up to take charge of the little podium in the center of the floor. I glanced around, only to see that Professor Howlett was sitting in the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest and looking immeasurably bored. _Huh. I guess the brainwashing thing might not be true then…_

"Hello, everyone!" Phil said loudly. "Please, take your seats, and then we can get started!" There was a general shuffling around as everyone scrambled into their seats. Beaming, Phil said, "Alright, everyone, I'd like to introduce a guest this evening. Loki d'Asgard is here to check out S.H.I.E.L.D., and to see if it's the right extra-curricular for him! So please, everyone, make him welcome!"

For some reason, my name got me a few strange looks, but that was nothing compared to the overall greeting I received.

"_NuqneH, batlhjup! wIlajlI'boq!_"

And right then, I was _done_. So done. The meeting hadn't even started and I was done. Phil was still beaming as I hit the door and started running.

I felt only a little bit sorry as I hurried away. Those poor guys probably didn't even realize why I had just flown out of there like a bat out of hell, but I wasn't about to go back and explain.

I probably would have to apologize to Phil, later, though. Snapdragons. I hate apologizing.

Darcy caught up with me right before I reached the bus stop and I _almost stabbed her in the throat with my pen_. That's how jumpy I was. Not my best day, really.

"So…" she said, "I guess it didn't go well?"

I glared at her. "You could say that," I gritted out between my teeth. She walked alongside me in silence for a moment, before I stopped at the bus stop and stood, glaring ineffectively at my feet.

"Hey," she said, after a moment of that awkwardness. "Do you… do you need a ride home?"

I lifted my head and stared at her for a minute. "What?" I asked, intelligently.

She smiled a little, perhaps emboldened by my lack of eloquence. "Do you need a ride home?" she asked again. "I mean, I know you don't have a car –duh, Darcy, he's at the bus stop– but I also know that you hate public transportation, and I don't live that far from you, so I thought I might give you a lift?"

There was so much to process in all of that, I almost didn't know where to start. On the one hand, Darcy was offering me an out from the hated bus. At night. By myself. On the other hand, this girl had been stalking me. Obviously stalking me, now. _How does she know I hate public transportation? Or that I don't live far from her? Did she _follow me home _one day, or something?_

Before I could panic and try to kill her or something equally insane, I took a deep breath and actually thought. Thinking was my _thing_. That was what I _did._ I thought through things. I made plans. So. Now. Plan.

Suspiciously, I stared into Darcy Lewis' eyes. What was her angle? I knew that she had some sort of weird fascination with me, but was it more sinister than that? Was she an enemy? Should I be on guard? Should I call for Hugin and Munin, who were undoubtedly just a little ways off, in the shadows?

I discarded that plan pretty much immediately. If I got into a car with the Ravens, I would wake up in my old bedroom at Yggdrasil, and I wouldn't be allowed to leave until I'd spoken with/been shouted at by my father. So no, Hugin and Munin were not an option.

"Sure," I said finally, gripping the strap of my bag tightly with one hand. "Thanks," I said then, because I wasn't sure if gratitude was to be expected before or after the ride.

Darcy smiled at me. It was a surprisingly normal looking smile. "No problem," she said, grasping my free arm and ignoring the way my whole body stiffened. "Come on, my car's this way."

She took me home, she dropped me off. Blah, blah, you already know this part, Tony. Remember? I went to therapy the next morning and ranted about it for like, fifteen minutes. Don't tell me you don't remember.

* * *

**A/N: So, I totally **_**didn't**_** get stuck in the middle of this chapter. And I **_**absolutely**_** did **_**not**_** lock my bedroom door and then walk around my room pretending to be Loki. Including dialogue, facial expressions and hand gestures. No way. **

**That would be weird.**

**Here's my tumblr: indigo-night-wisp DOT tumblr DOT com. Come say hi.**

**Next Chapter: Keep to the code.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: "It'll come, in time. If it's any consolation, I think you're right." –Loki, **_**Thor**_

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**I'm a little bit sorry, I think. I feel like an AU featuring Mob!Odinsons should include more movie references than I am capable of providing. I am very sorry for the lack. I just haven't seen enough gangster movies to properly reference. **

**Also, much of the beginning of this chapter is referenced/inspired by **_**Son of the Mob**_** by Gordon Korman.**

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**Chapter 6: Jeg er rørt over at du bryr deg så mye**

**Alternatively titled: In which Loki lies to the police in the name of brotherly solidarity.**

* * *

I skipped Sunday dinner.

For some people, that's not a big deal. Like, "Oh, yeah, I skipped Sunday dinner at my folks', no big. I'll go next week."

Well. Not in _my _family.

I went to Sunday dinner every week. Not because I particularly missed everybody at Yggdrasil. Not because I was bored on the weekends and thought, "Gee, ya know what would spice up my life? People committing crimes over dessert." No, I went home for dinner every Sunday because before I left for college, my mother said, very sweetly, "And, darling, you _will_ be coming home for Sunday dinner every week. Won't you?"

Translation: _Boy, if I don't see you sitting at my dinner table every single Sunday afternoon, I will personally drag your butt home and force-feed you mashed potatoes until you can't move. _Sweetly.

Dinner with my family is sort of like a cross between "The Sopranos" and "The Brady Bunch." There's me, my mother, my father, and Thor, all sitting around the dining room table eating spaetzle and trying not to say anything that will start an argument. And with my father and me at the same table, starting an argument was as easy as breathing.

All that is fairly normal. We're just a normal, semi-dysfunctional family having Sunday dinner until one of the uncles arrives in the middle of it.

And then, in between bites of mom's apple pie or chocolate mousse, the Allfather is arranging for a shipment of goods to be "liberated" and for several bars and gambling joints to be "persuaded" to purchase some "protection." The Family robbed a bank once. I have no idea why, but the heist was planned over Sunday dinner and peach cobbler. My father will order Uncle Bedwyr to go break some poor schmuck's kneecaps, then turns around and ask me how school's going and compliment Mom's cooking in the same breath.

It's bizarre.

It's not like I have this great, terrible desire to uphold the law and be the moral and upright member of the family. That's Thor's department. Even though he works for Dad and is a full member of the Family, he's probably the most honest, morally-straight person I know. He's so goodhearted, it's almost unbelievable. Don't ask me how that works, because I have no idea.

I certainly don't get my disdain for the Life from my sense of ethics. To the best of my knowledge, everyone the Family dealt with deserved it, one way or another. No, I was just annoyed.

I mean, seriously. Did it have to invade every aspect of our lives? I couldn't even talk to my dad for five minutes without the Business interfering.

Which brings me to another reason to avoid Sunday dinner –talks with my father. Odin liked to pull me aside and have "man-to-man" conversations. It was basically torture. We talk about my classes ("You should study something other than sciences. Something useful like law!" He actually says this with a straight face.), my career ("Loki, magic shows aren't going to get you very far in life."), my friends ("Loki, you need to talk to people. Maybe spend some time with Sif and the boys!"), and, inevitably: "Loki, I think you should consider moving back home to Yggdrasil."

So he could control and watch my every move? No thanks.

I skipped Sunday dinner. My phone rang about seven times and I didn't answer once. For awhile, I was afraid that someone would be coming after me, but no one appeared, even after our normal dinner time had come and gone.

I told myself that I absolutely was _not _the least bit upset that they didn't try harder.

The next morning, after nervously checking my apartment for goombas, I rushed to Roger's with time to spare for Professor Howlett's class. Darcy sat next to me and I spent the entire period hoping she wouldn't say anything to me, only to find myself irritatingly and inexplicably disappointed when she didn't.

And then, of course, I trooped off to _Advanced Mathematical Reasoning_ and got my backside royally kicked by a pop quiz.

Needless to say, I was not in any kind of mood to come home to Thor sitting in my apartment.

"Brother! You have returned!"

"Yes, Thor," I sighed. "That is generally what one does when one is finished with tasks for the day."

"I thought you might be working," he said, standing and following me into the kitchen.

"I don't do shows on Mondays," I said, dumping my bag and making a beeline for my coffee machine.

"I meant your job at the library, Loki. You know, the one you actually get _paid _for?"

The worst part was that he didn't even mean it condescendingly. He really was concerned about me.

"I get paid for the magic shows, Thor," I said through gritted teeth. I hadn't forgotten what he'd said the last time he was here. Concern about my income was just one more way to say that he didn't think I could take care of myself.

"I don't work at the library anymore, anyway," I added as patiently as I could. "The regular goomba got out of the hospital finally. They have him his job back."

(He wasn't really a goomba, in case you were wondering, Tony. He was just a guy who shelved books part-time at the local library. He fell off a ladder one day and ended up in the hospital having back surgery. I was just filling in. Sometimes, I fall into mob slang without realizing it. Or maybe I do realize it. I don't know. You're the psychologist, you analyze it.)

Thor looked offended on my behalf. "What about you?" he demanded. "What are _you _going to do?"

I shrugged. "I suppose I will go and live on the streets, Thor," I said sarcastically. "I'll be alright. Surely someone will point the way to a shelter for me."

My big brother couldn't have looked more horrified if I had announced that I planned to murder someone. (Actually, the last time I did that, he offered to help me hide the body.)

"What?!" Thor bellowed. "No! I forbid it! You are coming home, right now, and we will speak to Father about this!"

"Thor! Thor, calm down!" I shouted, suddenly feeling that my teasing was backfiring on me. "I was just kidding!"

He stopped yelling and stared at me suspiciously.

"Kidding?"

"Yes, Thor, god. Kidding. I didn't mean it, I was just joking."

He sighed in obvious relief and forgave me, just like that.

"What will you do, then?" he asked, dropping down into one of my kitchen chairs.

I snorted. "You know I don't _only _do magic shows for the Center," I said. "I have other gigs too. _Paying _gigs."

"Children's birthday parties?" Thor snarked right back. "Loki. You could be doing so much more than this."

"Like what?" I snapped, suddenly extremely irritated. "The 'Family Business'?"

"_Yes_!" Thor cried, sounding frustrated. No doubt he was. Frustrated with me and my insistence on being different, on refusing to submit to Odin's edicts. Thor never understood why I wouldn't just do what our father told me to do, following blindly. _Thor _was a good son.

I turned away from him and rested the edges of my palms against the counter top.

"Did you come to berate me, Thor?" I asked.

"What?" he sounded startled. "No!"

"Then why are you here?" I watched the coffee drip down into the pot. "Did Dad send you?"

"Because you skipped Sunday dinner?" my brother's voice was half-teasing, half-serious. "Mom is furious, you know."

I winced. "Wonderful." The one parent who wasn't entirely disappointed in me…

As if he was reading my thoughts, Thor continued, "I don't think she's mad at _you _though. Not very at least. She seems to think that Dad is… being too demanding of you."

I smiled slightly. _Thanks, Mom._

"So you came because of Sunday?" I asked, trying to steer us back on course.

Thor grinned. "No, actually. On that account, brother, you get a reprieve."

"Then why are you here?" I asked, exasperated.

Thor immediately assumed a look of pious innocence.

"Maybe I missed you. Since you weren't there, Sunday." He was the picture of solicitous big brother.

I rolled my eyes. "Thor, please. Don't try to con a conman. You're a terrible liar anyway."

His face cleared and he smirked at me. "Fine. I suppose I should have known better than to lie to the Liesmith." He winked and I smirked back in spite of myself.

"Seriously, Thor," I said, pouring out two cups of coffee and bringing them both over to the table. Plunking down in front of my brother, I watched him take a sip and grinned when he grimaced. I have a sweet tooth, I'll admit. Thor does not appreciate as much sugar in his coffee as I do.

"What are you doing in my apartment in the middle of the day, and without Dad knowing about it?" I asked quietly.

Because Dad couldn't have known. If this was a Dad sanctioned visit, Thor would have just said so. It wasn't like him to dissemble so much.

Thor opened his mouth, hopefully to finally give me a straight answer, and then my apartment landline rang.

Dropping my head to the table with a loud _thunk_, I groaned.

"Hold that thought," I said warningly to my brother as I went to answer the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Loki d'Asgard?" an unfamiliar man's voice asked.

"Who is this?" I demanded. Rude, I know, but hey, I was being stalked everywhere I went. Sue me for being suspicious.

"This is Detective Nate Summers, Mr. d'Asgard, with the police department. I was wondering if you could give me some information."

"What kind of information?" I asked warily, glancing at my brother, who was watching me solemnly.

"Loki –can I call you Loki?"

"No," I answered, locking eyes with Thor and raising one eyebrow. He shrugged.

"Okay… Mr. d'Asgard then." The good detective sounded slightly patronizing, which basically meant I hated him on principle. "Is your brother there, Mr. d'Asgard?"

"Here?" I clarified. "In my apartment?"

"Yes," the detective said.

"No," I lied instantly, without a second thought. "I haven't seen my brother in nearly a week."

Thor's eyes softened, relief flooding his face.

"Hmm." Detective Summers sounded disappointed. "Well, if you do happen to see him, could you give me a call? Here's my number."

I wrote down the number he gave me automatically. I wouldn't be calling.

"Why are you looking for my brother?" I asked, playing my part to the hilt.

"We just have a few questions for him," Summers soothed cryptically. I rolled my eyes expressively at Thor as the platitudes continued.

The phone call concluded with a "If you can think of anything helpful at all, please call, day or night," and I finally hung up and fixed my older brother with a look I learned from my mother.

"Thor," I said, pleasantly, sitting down across from him again, "does your being here have anything to do with the reason I'm getting phone calls from the police?"

He gave me a sheepish grin. "Maybe?" I raised my eyebrow again. He caved. "Yes."

Sighing, I sipped at my coffee and mock-glared at him over the rim.

"Explain."

As it turned out, the reason the police wanted to talk to Thor actually had very little to do with Thor at all. They actually just wanted to question him as a matter of course due to his status as a "known associate" of Freyr, a Cousin who apparently didn't know how to avoid looking directly at security cameras while he was robbing a bank. Or, more accurately, _trying _to rob a bank. Freyr got away, through some sorcery I couldn't decipher, but the heist failed.

By the time Thor's explanation was through, I was rolling my eyes so hard, I'm surprised they didn't fall out of my head. Freyr is disgustingly good-looking, irritably athletic, and unbearably aware of it. Fortunately, he's also a moron. He has a sister, Freya, who is nice enough, but she's mostly cut from the same cloth, more or less. They were Family but not family, thank God. I'm not sure I could handle being related to so much pure air-headedness.

Anyway, needless to say, planning a heist was not Freyr's strong suit. I don't even know why he tried. And doing it alone? I shook my head. Freyr was just too dumb to live sometimes.

"So you've been hiding out in my apartment all day?" I asked.

"Basically," Thor admitted. "I tried calling to ask if it was okay, but you never answered your cell."

It was truly amazing what clearing up one little misunderstanding could do for my mood. Just hearing that Thor has tried to _call _before breaking into my apartment made me 100% more okay with the fact that he had done just that.

And yes, Tony, I am aware that that is not a normal attitude to have.

"Oh," I said. "Well, as long as you asked. Or meant to ask, rather."

Thor grinned at me, his hopeful grin, the one that said, "_I'm glad you're not mad at me_."

I rolled my eyes at him again, which basically meant, "_You're an idiot_," which, of course, was my way of saying, "_I love you too, big brother_."

Tony, if you ever repeat that to anybody, I swear I will maim you, permanently.

Or have you maimed. Either one.

000

"So," Thor said slowly, casually. I looked up from my homework, instantly wary.

"What?"

"Hugin and Munin mentioned something about a girl?"

"_Oh my god_," I moaned, dropping my head. "You have got to be kidding. Please tell me you're kidding."

Thor shook his head, his mouth slowly splitting into a malicious (for Thor) grin. "Her name is Darcy, I believe?"

I groaned into my math book. "Stupid Ravens."

Thor laughed aloud. "Loki, what will you do when they find out you call them that?"

"Nothing," I muttered, "they'll probably be flattered by it."

He laughed again, reaching across the table to nudge the top of my head. My face was pressed against the pages of my _Advanced Mathematical Reasoning_ textbook. My nose fit nicely into the binding's crease. Thor nudged me again.

"So, this girl," he prompted.

Sighing, I sat up and glared at him. "Darcy," I allowed.

"Yes," said Thor. "What's going on between you two?" he waggled his eyebrows at me in a way that looked like it was supposed to be meaningful, but ended up just making me laugh. And then Thor smiled and I realized that was the point.

"Nothing is going on between us," I answered my brother. "We aren't an 'us'. Darcy is just some creepy girl in my class who likes to follow me around and stare at me."

Thor shrugged. "Sounds like an 'us' to me."

"That's because you, brother, have decidedly odd taste in women."

"Do not," Thor retorted, still grinning at me. I gave him a look.

"Amora?"

He winced. "Alright, I'll admit, Amora was… odd, but –"

"Crazy, Thor," I said flatly. "She was crazy. And not my kind of crazy, either. She was _psychotic_. She tried to feed you strawberries."

"That's actually considered romantic to some people," Thor pointed out.

"Thor, you're _allergic _to strawberries," I said exasperatedly. "She could have killed you."

"She didn't know I was allergic," Thor protested mildly.

"She should have!" I burst out. "She was stalking you! How could she not know you were allergic to strawberries when she was _stalking _you?"

Thor stared at me for a moment with one side of his mouth quirking into a tiny little grin that I couldn't quite read.

"Loki," he said, finally, "you realize that what you're basically complaining about is not that Amora was stalking me, but that she was doing it _badly_?"

I huffed, feeling my face starting to flush.

"Well," I said, pulling together what little dignity I had left in this conversation, "if you're going to stalk someone, you might as well make sure you're doing it right!"

Thor laughed again at this, slapping one big hand down on the table and crinkling his eyes up so tightly he probably couldn't see. When he finally stopped chuckling, he gave me the same little grin as before, only now I could easily read the emotion behind it. _Affection._

My scowl was perhaps not as serious as I meant it to be.

"Whatever," I huffed, looking down at my math book again.

"So," Thor said, for something like the fourth time. "Darcy?"

I sighed and resigned myself to the conversation. "Darcy," I repeated. "She stalks me."

He grinned. "Does she do it well?"

I smirked, reluctantly. "Very."

"Oh, well that's alright then," he said cheerfully, sitting back and gesturing for me to go on. I glanced down at my notebook and half-heartedly started one of the homework problems.

"Is she pretty?" Thor prodded.

I thought about it. Long dark hair that curled at the ends and big blue eyes that never seemed to blink when she was watching me from behind those thick black glasses frames. Pale skin on a delicately boned face, a graceful neck and a curving figure that…

"I suppose so," I said finally, grudgingly. Thor positively beamed at me.

"Is she funny?" he pressed. I rolled my eyes.

"We don't talk a lot, Thor. Mostly I'm too busy running in the other direction."

Now he was frowning at me. "Loki! That's rude! What if the poor girl just wants somebody to talk to?"

I snorted. "Thor, if you knew Darcy, you wouldn't be calling her a 'poor girl'. Besides, she's not hard up for company, and even if she was, I can name at least ten different people off the top of my head who would _gladly_ spend time with her."

Namely, every other person in Logan Howlett's history class. She was the darling of _A New Perspective on American History _and what was worse? She _knew _it.

Thor grinned at me. "You should ask her out," he said.

I stared at him incredulously. "You cannot be serious," I said finally.

Thor nodded enthusiastically. "No, no, it'll be great! You ask her out, and if she's really interested in you, she'll say yes, and then you'll go on your date and one of two things will happen." He paused, waiting for me to ask.

I obliged grudgingly. "And what are those?"

"One, you'll discover that you actually really like her, in which case everything will be perfect because you will already know she likes you back." He smirked at me. "Or, two, _she'll _decide that she actually doesn't like _you _and then she'll leave you alone. It's a win/win for you!"

I raised an eyebrow. That was… actually not a terrible plan.

"… I'll think about it," I told Thor, who acted like I'd just brought Christmas and his birthday and possibly a trip to Comic Con all at once.

My big brother is a giant dork, I swear.

* * *

**A/N: Spot the Marvel cameo… Stan Lee has not made an appearance yet, but it's only chapter 6…**

**For all those who are wondering, Thor's fandoms include DC Comics, Star Wars, and **_**Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along-Blog**_**. **

**He and Loki used to visit Comic Con every year while Loki was in high school. And then Loki graduated and went to college and decided that he was too old for Comic Con anymore, so they haven't gone for a couple of years now. Thor acts like he doesn't mind, but secretly he just wants his little brother to agree to dress up like a Jedi and come with him to talk to their favorite directors and ask questions at all the panels and then make themselves sick eating at Chipotle's afterwards and then fall asleep on the car ride home with his head on Thor's shoulder like he used to. (And Loki will never, ever, ever admit this, but he's got the words to every song in **_**Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog**_** memorized and sometimes sings them to himself while he's doing laundry in his apartment building's Laundromat and wishes that he hadn't said no when Thor asked him to go to Comic Con last year.)**

**Look! Free headcanon!**

**Next Chapter: Here comes the bride. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: ****"There are no men like me." –Loki, **_**Avengers**_

**A/N: Some of you knew what was coming after the Next Chapter hint at the end of the last one. Bless you all.**

**Thanks to all reviewers! **

**I do not condone underage drinking or whatever, btw. But Loki… Loki doesn't care. Also, all mead-drinking traditions are entirely my own invention.**

* * *

**Chapter 7:** **Jeg liker følelsen mystisk**

Alternatively titled: In which Loki ditches class for more important things.

* * *

I'll admit, Tony, I was tempted to password protect this chapter. I decided not to, eventually –mostly because I know that the fastest way to get you to look at something is to say, "Please don't look at this." And a password wouldn't stop you anyway so I guess the point is… that there isn't a point.

Just know that if you ever tell anybody (and by anybody, I mean my father –I am well aware that you don't care at all about doctor/patient confidentiality and that Odin can be very… persuasive), I will tell my brother that you made me cry. And he won't care that it was in the middle of a therapy session and very cathartic and cleansing for the soul. You won't even see him coming.

A week after my impromptu hang out session with Thor, and another missed Sunday dinner later, I came home from school and practically raced through my apartment building. I didn't have the patience to wait for the elevator, so I took the stairs, jumping them as fast as I could. I burst out of the stairwell and nearly bowled over old Mrs. Darkholme. She gave me the evil eye and I sputtered out apologies as I inched past her and ducked into my apartment.

I'm pretty sure Mrs. Darkholme is a witch.

Leaning against the door, I closed my eyes and caught my breath. Pushing off from the door, I made my way to the kitchen and coffee, leaving book bag, coat, and laptop behind in a trail as I went.

Today had been exhausting. And not just because it was Monday.

I hadn't seen Hugin and Munin since last Thursday, but I knew they were still following me. I felt eyes on me while walking across Roger's University campus. I would turn my head and just catch a glimpse of a black coat out of the corner of my eye. Someone had bumped into me in the quad today and I had a hand wrapped around my knife before I knew what I was doing. I didn't even try taking my Glock anywhere anymore. I was so jumpy I could hardly sit still; I certainly wasn't going to go around with a gun.

Reaching my kitchen and subsequently, the coffeemaker, I had to pause for a moment when I realized that what I _really _wanted was alcohol. And not just any alcohol either. I wanted _mead_, and I mean straight up honey-wine, like a thousand year old Medovukha mead like the Vikings used to drink. My dad knows a guy who gets him all sorts of stuff like that. Illegally, of course, but I didn't particularly care at that point.

The only problem was that in order to get some mead, I'd need help. Sneaking into Yggdrasil is never a good idea, even if you're the son of the Allfather. And sneaking into Yggdrasil and _not _stopping in to see Mother would be severely Frowned Upon. Doing it for the sake of putting alcohol into my not-yet-legal liver would be cause for a spot on her List.

Snapdragons. I pulled out my phone and grudgingly called Thor.

(Now, Tony, you may be wondering why I became so fixed on the whole mead thing so quickly. In answer, all I can say is…

I don't know. That's literally it, I have no idea why I got so excited or so determined to get plastered on mead all of a sudden. I just was. I'm in _therapy_, Tony, I think I'm entitled to one or two inexplicable cravings every once in a while.)

My brother picked up on the first ring, which startled me more than I'd care to admit. Thor usually has to find his phone before he can answer it, which usually takes a couple of minutes, despite the fact that he never silences the bloody thing. For him to pick up so fast, he must have had the phone in his hand already.

"Loki!" Thor said, sounding jubilant and overly excited over finding me on the other end of his phone. "You called me!"

"Uh, yeah? So?"

"You never call me," he said, settling down and now just sounding warm and happy and… Thor-like.

Oh.

"That's not true," I protested, wracking my brains to try to think of the last time I had willingly called my brother. I couldn't. "I call you all the time!"

"You do not," Thor countered this blatant lie with a solemn fondness.

"Well," I said, somewhat hastily. Thor didn't give me a chance to say anything else, for which I was oddly grateful.

"Actually," he said, "I was just about to call you."

That explained why he'd answered so quickly.

"What did you want?" I asked, distracted from my mead craving.

"We have a problem, Loki."

I sighed and leaned against the countertop, picking at a scab of peeling paint with my fingernail. "Do you mean _we _have a problem, or that _you _have a problem that you need _my _help with?"

"Loki," Thor's voice was completely serious. "Please."

I sighed again. "Come on over. And bring some mead," I added.

000

Thor arrived bearing a bottle of Viking's Blood (yes, it's really called that) and I took a moment to appreciate, for the first time in a very long time, the fact that my brother does not require all that much explanation before doing something. I said I wanted mead, and he brought me some, not even questioning it.

I let him in and led the way to the living room, only to have Thor push me right through it and into the kitchen. Bemused, I let him gently shove me into a seat at the table while he retrieved a pair of mugs from the cupboard. Settling across from me, he poured out a portion of mead for both of us. Automatically following the tradition that our father had taught us when we were far, far too young to be drinking alcohol (he had sneaked some to us when Mother wasn't looking) I waited for Thor to raise his mug to me and then I raised mine in reply.

My brother's eyes warmed even further at my gesture and we both gulped the first drink. My father's voice echoed in my head.

"_Boys," _he'd said, _"the first drink of mead is gulped, like this." _He showed us. _"You may sip at leisure after the first swallow, but always take a long pull of the first draft."_

Shaking my head to clear my father's voice away, I said, "Alright, Thor. What's going on?"

Thor sighed. "It's Freyr," he said, giving a wry smile in response to my instinctive grimace. "I know. I know, but Loki, he needs help."

"I'll say," I grumbled. "I can refer him to a therapist or two, that's for sure."

Thor grinned. "I'm sure you could. But you know what I meant."

I groaned. "Okay, fine. What's the moron done now?"

"Remember the bank robbery?" Thor asked.

"How could I forget?"

"Well, Freyr just came to me today and told me _why _he tried to rob the bank."

"This ought to be good," I said dryly.

It wasn't.

"Thrym? Freyr got mixed up with _Thrym_? Lords and Ladies, it's like he's _trying _to get himself killed!"

Thrym was a minor sort of boss in the city's Underworld. He wasn't associated with my father's crew except in very small transactions. My father tolerated Thrym because it was less effort to just let him be than it would be to run him out. Freyr had apparently borrowed money from Thrym: a lot of money. And now he couldn't pay it back. Hence the bank robbery.

"It gets worse," Thor admitted. "Thrym's got Freya."

"He's _what_?"

Thor winced. "Thrym told Freyr that since he can't pay up, he'll just have to forfeit something else."

"And Freya is that something else," I concluded, swigging my mead violently. Thor nodded.

"He's going to marry her." My head came up and I stared at my brother.

"_Marry_ her? Like in a church with a priest and all that?"

"That's what Freyr said. Thrym has actually invited Freyr to the wedding."

"Insult to injury," I sighed. "What is Dad doing?"

Thor looked down. I gaped.

"Thor," I said slowly, "Dad _is _doing something, _right_?"

Thor sighed. "He says that Freyr got himself into this mess by borrowing from Thrym in the first place. He won't help Freyr out, even to save Freya."

Outraged, I just sat there for a moment, fuming. I mean, I wasn't stupid or naive. I knew what kind of man my father was. He was a mob boss. Sometimes, examples had to be made.

It was just that, usually, my dad made examples out of whoever threatened his people, not out of his people themselves. At least, not publically. Sure, he would lambast any goomba who had been as stupid as Freyr had, but only once he had the moron back at Yggdrasil in the relative safety of the Family's arms. My father could be ruthless with his own crew, but he was the only one allowed to take it out of their hides.

Usually.

But now… poor Freya.

"We have to do something," I said, making a split-second decision. I was almost surprised at myself.

Thor smiled suddenly, relief breaking over his face and relieving the tension I hadn't even seen until it was gone. "I was so hoping you would say that," he said.

First things first…

"When is the wedding?" I asked, mug of mead in hand as I drummed my fingers against the table.

"Wednesday," Thor said solemnly. I gave him an annoyed look.

"Gee, Thor, you didn't have to leave me all this time to come up with a plan, you know," I snarked. "What am I going to do with all this extra time on my hands?"

He gave me a sheepish smile. "I know, it is very short notice. But you'll come up with something. That's why I came to you; you're the best planner I know, Loki, even if you aren't in the Business."

The "anymore" was unsaid, but I still heard it. I rolled my eyes, flattered in spite of myself. It helped that I knew Thor wasn't just trying to flatter me: he actually does think that way.

"We can't just go in and get Freya," I mused. "Thrym has a… well, it's not a legitimate claim exactly, but it's good enough for mob law. He'll fight back if we take her. People will get hurt."

Thor agreed. "We'll have to get Thrym to listen to reason. Our first priority needs to be getting Freya out of the wedding, but after that…"

"After that, we need to negotiate a truce with Thrym," I finished for him.

"Exactly," my brother sighed, sounding rather doubting. For Thor at least. I would have called it realism, but Thor is rarely realistic and is definitely more inclined towards believing the best and hoping for a better tomorrow or something. I swear, for being over 6 feet tall and having a temper like a thunderstorm sometimes, Thor really reminded me of nothing so much as an oversized puppy, eager to spread light and joy to everyone around him.

Unless, of course, they happened to be his enemies. Or my enemies. In that case, they had better run. Fast.

What was I saying again? Oh, right.

We both finished our mugs and then, "We can do it," I assured Thor, reaching for the bottle of Viking's Blood with a hand that was just a touch less steady than I would have liked it to be. "It's all just a matter of… something. Of a thing. Planning."

Thor was beginning to look suspicious. "Planning," he said.

I nodded enthusiastically. "Yesh! I mean, yes. We plan. I have a plan."

"Do you." He didn't look as excited about this as I thought he would. "Loki, are you… you're drunk." He rolled his eyes and shook his head a little. "Figureshh," he slurred a little. "Lightweight."

I pointed a finger at him accusingly. "Hey!" I protested. "You're drunk too!"

He nodded calmly. "Yesh. But I…" he paused for a long time, possibly trying to come up with a rebuttal. I waited patiently, oddly entranced by the way the mead left in the bottom of my mug sloshed around and around…

"I am _older than you_!" Thor finally announced triumphantly, startling me so badly that I had a knife pointed at his nose before either of us realized I was even reaching for one. We both froze.

"Loki," my big brother said, sounding vaguely disapproving. "No drinking with weaponsh. You knowsh… know… better than that. Isssh… ish… whatsit… bad. Scary. Dangerous! Ish dangerous. Gimme th' knife." He held out one hand imperiously and I, somewhat shaken by the entire event, handed it over with less fuss than I normally would have.

"Alright," Thor said then, once the knife was off the table and tossed somewhat carelessly onto the countertop (along with Thor's favorite gun, which had long ago been blessed with an name that none but Thor could even pronounce, Thor's knife, Thor's second gun, and my other knife). "Alright. Now," he poured us both some more mead. We were well on our way to getting truly sloshed at this point. "Now," he said, "tell me your plan."

I told him.

He laughed.

I said that I was serious.

He said he knew. That's why he was laughing.

And then we drank some more. Probably.

I don't really remember the rest of Monday night.

(Norns, Tony, this is really embarrassing. If you bring this up to make fun of me during our sessions, I'll cut your liver out with a spoon.)

000

What was the plan? Um…

Look, before I tell you, let me say, in my defense, that I had just consumed like half of my body weight in mead when I came up with it. Somewhat less defensively… going through with the plan was basically just a matter of pride. I refused to admit to Thor that I had been completely out of my mind when I suggested it, and, well. Thor didn't like it much, but he _had _come to me for help.

"Loki," my brother growled at me two days later, on a bright and sunny Wednesday morning, "are you _sure _this is the only way?"

I rolled my eyes at him, not about to admit that I wasn't entirely sure of myself either. "Why is it that you always ask for my help, but never like my methods when you get it?"

Thor looked slightly chagrined at this and I almost felt bad for a second. "You're right," he said, and oh, how I _love _hearing those words, "but really, Loki, this… is this the _only _way?"

I glared at him, sympathy exhausted. "Unless you want to start a war between crews, then yes, this is it!" He nodded, finally convinced, and I allowed myself a smirk. "Besides," I said cheekily, "this way is far too amusing to pass up."

This time he glared at me. "Loki…" he said threateningly. I ignored it, not the least bit scared of him.

"Come on, Thor," I teased, "you look very fetching in a dress."

My brother scowled at me from the depths of a long, white wedding gown, face framed by a long, lacy veil. "I will hurt you, brother," he said, seriously. I scoffed.

"Think of Freya, Thor! She needs us!"

He groaned. "I know! But why do I have to be the bride? Why can't you do it?"

I sighed. "I'm going to be in a dress, too," I pointed out. "I'm a bridesmaid, remember?" I gestured to my own get-up, a short-sleeved dress in a rather shocking shade of green. "And you can at least be glad that _your _dress has long sleeves. I had to shave under my _arms_."

He winced, though still scowling. "I wish you would stop calling it _my _dress." He did look sympathetic for my plight though. As well he should. Shaving under one's arms is extremely uncomfortable as it turns out. Though I'll admit, the end result isn't at all unpleasant.

(Tony, we aren't going to talk about this. _Ever_. And if you ask for pictures, I swear to the Norns, I will rip your eyeballs out of your head.)

"Actually," Thor looked thoughtful, "how did you find out what the dresses looked like? I mean, you could hardly have called up Thrym and asked him."

I carefully adjusted the corsage pinned to my hip and didn't answer him. He stared at me.

"You didn't."

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and smirked a little. His jaw dropped.

"You _did_! You just called him up and asked him, what, asked him for pictures of the dresses?"

I shrugged. "Basically, yeah."

"And he believed that?" Thor cried incredulously. I stifled a snicker. He really did look ridiculous in that dress.

"Why wouldn't he?" I asked. "I told him I was from the dressmakers company and we had an issue with one of the dresses and couldn't remember which ones we had sent to him. He just sent me back a picture immediately and I had a couple of dresses fitted in our sizes."

"In one day."

"Yes, Thor, in one day. I really don't know why you come to me expecting miracles and then act surprised when I pull them off."

He gave me a look. "There's pulling off miracles, and then there is having two dresses made for a wedding in less than a day. How did you even pay for them?"

"Oh," I said casually, "I used the money _someone _keeps leaving on my kitchen table."

He didn't pretend not to know what I was talking about. "That was supposed to be for the bus, Loki," he said sternly.

"If you haven't noticed, Thor," I said, "I hate the bus."

"I know," he said gently, "but _I_ hate the idea of you walking all the time. Especially at night."

"I can take care of myself," I started hotly, only to stop as I remembered that Thor actually didn't believe that at all. He grimaced, clearly remembering the same conversation.

"Loki…"

"Forget it," I brushed it off. "I know that you think I'm weak and pathetic or whatever, but remember that I'm the brains of this operation, so."

"Loki…"

"_Forget it_."

He shut up. I turned away, hunching my shoulders and feeling the dress strain across my shoulders. I started chuckling in spite of myself.

"What?" Thor asked eagerly, clearly leaping at the chance to share the joke and relieve the awkwardness between us. I took pity on him and answered.

"I was just thinking of how we must look," I said. "You in that bride's dress and me in this awful green!"

He started laughing too, grasping my shoulders and spinning me to face the two of us in the full-length mirror hanging in my closet. He reached up and lowered his veil, covering his obviously masculine face and beard.

"My question is," he said, still laughing, "how are you going to pass for a girl? I have the veil to cover my face. I know you are clean-shaven and rather… delicate-featured, but even so, you are most definitely not a woman!"

I grinned. "You'll like this. Thrym gave us the rope to hang him with." Reaching into the box our dresses had arrived in, I pulled out a length of green sheer cloth.

Thor recoiled. "What is _that_?"

I smirked. "Apparently, Thrym ordered a certain style of bridesmaid's dress… one that comes with a half-veil." I wound the sheer around the top of my head and down around my eyes, leaving only my mouth and chin exposed.

Thor stared at me, a small smile playing around his lips. "I hardly recognize you," he said wonderingly. "You could pass easily."

"Because I have a girlish figure?" I said teasingly, raising one eyebrow, not that he could see it. Thor grinned wider.

"Exactly," he said.

Rolling my eyes, I gestured for him to lead the way out of my bedroom. "Come on, brother dear," I said. "We have a wedding to crash."

Turning to look over his shoulder at me, he asked suspiciously, "You've been waiting all day to say that haven't you?"

I grinned, and didn't answer.

000

If I hadn't been crashing a mob wedding at 11:00 AM on a Wednesday morning, I would have been in _Advanced Mathematical Reasoning_, probably being lectured _kindly_ by Dr. Bruce Banner. The poor guy was really a physicist, but by the time he got back from some kind of mission work in India, there weren't any open positions in the physics department at Roger's. The Dean of Education, Nick Fury, had apparently taken pity on him (as difficult as it is for me to picture Nick Fury taking pity on anyone, I can't think of another reason why an experimental physicist would be hired as a math teacher for a class that hadn't existed a year ago). Dr. Banner was soft-spoken, polite, and friendly, though he never really liked to talk with students outside of class. The only problem I had with his class was, well. His class.

It's not that I'm bad at math. Certainly not. Genius remember?

It's just that I don't particularly like math all that much, and mathematical reasoning is, well, it's _different _from easy math like calculus and trigonometry and algebra. The math that I had to do for physics or chemistry? No problem. But in _AMR_, everything is more word problems than "solve the equation." You'd think that I would like word problems. I am, after all, nicknamed Silvertongue for my ability to twist words around. But for some reason, mixing math with words just confuses me. I have to work twice as hard in that class than I do in physics. _And_ I tend to procrastinate horribly, which leaves me scrambling to finish my homework before class, which tends to make my handwriting messy, which means that Dr. Banner will quietly pull me aside after class and kindly lecture me about "keeping things legible."

It makes me feel about six years old and I hate it.

So on the one hand, I was happy enough to ditch class, because, hey, no math! But on the other hand, I was missing class, which would probably consist of a really important lecture that would break through the fog of misunderstanding that clouded my mind and turn me into some kind of word problem calculator. If I was there to listen to it.

Which I wasn't.

I was going to fail this class and it was going to be all. Thor's. Fault.

Stupid mob.

Sneaking into the church was ridiculously easy. Thrym didn't even have a guard set. He was so certain that Freyr would just give up and do everything he could to protect his sister, especially since Odin wasn't doing anything to help. Thor and I literally just strolled in the back door.

We found Freya in a little back room with her best friend Sigyn. Thor and I waited for the goomba watching the door (apparently, Thrym was more worried about Freya trying to escape than he was about Freyr mounting any sort of rescue) to step away for just a minute to check out what his friends were doing in the chapel, and then we dashed.

Three twists with a hairpin, my ear pressed to the door, the tumblers turned over and the lock was open. We pushed in.

And immediately had to defend ourselves from a pair of silver candlesticks flying towards our heads.

"Ow, ow, Freya, stop!"

She paused, already hefting another piece of silver in one hand. Freya was clearly not going through with this wedding without a fight. "Loki?" she asked incredulously.

I tore the veil off and said, "Yeah, it's me and Thor," Thor wiggled his fingers and Freya waved back dazedly.

"What… what are you doing here?" she asked. Then, "What are you _wearing_?" Sigyn was stifling giggles behind her hand.

I glared at them both. Thor might have too, but I couldn't see through his veil. "We are saving you," I said pointedly. "You might want to stop laughing at us."

They sobered instantly and Freya dared to look hopeful. "Really?" she said, sounding far too timid for normally vibrant Freya. "Are you really… can you do that?"

I softened in spite of myself. "We _are _doing it," I assured her. "Don't worry. Freyr is outside waiting in a car for you. He'll take you both to Yggdrasil."

"To the Allfather," Freya said, mouth twisting some in unavoidable distaste.

"To my _mom_," I insisted. Her face brightened instantly.

"Oh, Frigga," she said. "That's alright, then."

"Yeah, yeah," I gestured impatiently. "Now go. Come on, the coast is clear, but it won't be for long. Use the back door. Go!"

They went, Freya kissing me on the cheek with more affection than she'd ever shown me in the past and Sigyn coyly pressing a scrap of paper into my hand. They slipped out the door and I watched them until they disappeared out the back door and into Freyr's car. Then I pulled my head back into the room and closed and locked the door.

"What's that?" Thor asked, nodding at the slip of paper. I looked and groaned.

"A phone number," I grumbled. Thor laughed out loud.

"Well," he teased, "if things don't work out with Darcy, you certainly won't have any trouble finding someone new."

"Shut up," I rolled my eyes, then started. Someone had just knocked on the door.

"Ladies? We're ready for you."

Frantically, I wrapped my own veil over my eyes and nose. "Fine!" I snapped at the door, automatically letting my voice fall into the higher-pitched cadence of Sigyn's voice. "We're coming." Nodding to my brother, who nodded back and took a deep breath, I wrenched the door open and glared at the guard, who faltered slightly.

"Well?" I asked, my voice dangerous. He rallied only slightly, frowning at Thor.

"You look… bigger," he said dubiously. Behind me, I heard Thor start to panic, which, knowing Thor, would lead to the goomba getting knocked out and both of us killed.

"Are you calling her fat?" I snapped, thinking quickly. The goomba paled and shook his head quickly.

"N-n-no!" he stammered. "I just… why can't she speak for herself?"

"She's hoarse," I said scornfully, pushing past him and ushering Thor forward. "From screaming for someone to save her from marrying that brute."

The goomba had the grace to blush. "I –look, I'm sorry about that."

"Hmh," I sniffed. "It doesn't matter anymore, I suppose. Let's just get this over with, Freya," I said to Thor, who, thankfully, played along and gave a heartfelt, longsuffering sigh. We were hastily led through the hallways and to the chapel, where a wedding march was starting to play.

The goomba left us at the door and I reached out to squeeze Thor's arm, playing up our disguise. "Ready?" I asked softly. He nodded.

I won't bore you with the details of Thor walking down the aisle, Tony. I know you don't care about all that. Suffice to say that it was hilarious and I think my brother sincerely wanted to smack me at least once.

Finally though, we stood at the altar next to Thrym, who was becoming more and more suspicious with every passing second, rightly so, considering that Thor was considerably taller and broader through the shoulders than Freya. I had been counting on the theory that Thrym hadn't actually spent much time with Freya before the wedding, and, to my great relief, the hunch had paid off.

But now Thrym was face to face with his bride, and he was starting to look like he knew something was up.

I was honestly surprised that we made it through the entire ceremony. Surprised, but no less amused. One of Thrym's goombas actually had a camera, and I made a mental note to somehow get a copy of that video.

"And do you," intoned the slightly nervous and extremely uncomfortable priest, who was probably used to performing mob weddings but not quite over the initial squeamishness, "Freya Njorddottir, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, to honor and obey –"

Thor stiffened and I dropped my face into one palm with a loud groan. I should have known that Thor wouldn't make it through this whole thing without cracking once. I guess I should just be glad it happened at the end of the ceremony instead of the beginning.

"Snapdragons," I muttered.

"I bloody well do _not_," Thor exploded, flipping his veil back and looking so undeniably fierce that any snickering at the sight of him in a dress was quickly stifled. Sighing, I unwound my own veil from my eyes and let the scarf settle around my throat. Thrym's protest died in his throat as Thor gripped the front of his cheap tuxedo. "Thrym," my brother said grimly. "We need to talk."

I smirked. Sometimes Thor's sense of humor presented itself in subtle ways.

Never loosening his grip, Thor hustled Thrym past the altar and into the back room of the chapel, which had probably been built for situations just like this. Or not like this, exactly, but situations where the wedding was stopped for some reason.

I offered a smile to the relieved-looking priest as I edged past him. "Sorry for crashing the wedding," I told him as insincerely as I could. He gave me a small smile in return.

"It's quite alright," he said softly. "Should I…" he gestured half-heartedly towards the back room.

"No, don't worry about it," I assured him. "This is just… _Business_. Ain't that right, boys?" I called, looking out over the chapel pews, where Thrym's men were sitting awkwardly and staring at me with their mouths hanging open. I glared at a couple of them who were eyeing my chest with speculation and they jerked their eyes away quickly. Scowling as primly as I could, I nodded to them all. "Gentlemen." I turned gracefully and swept into the back room, barely catching myself as I tripped on the hem of my gown. They didn't notice. Probably still trying to figure out whether or not it was okay to laugh at Odin d'Asgard's sons dressed in drag.

(It was, truly. I did.)

I found Thor and Thrym sitting warily on opposite sides of a plastic folding table.

"Loki," my brother greeted without taking his eyes off of Thrym. His legs were crossed knee over knee. He looked uncomfortable but in control in a way he never did unless he was on Family Business. The dress looked all wrong and totally ridiculous, but Thor didn't seem to notice. "Thrym has agreed to negotiate."

Side-eyeing the beginnings of a shiner adorning Thrym's eye, I couldn't help but smirk. "I'm sure he has."

Sliding into place next to Thor, I slouched comfortably in my chair. "So. Let's talk."

* * *

**A/N: Yes, to anyone who's read my SPN fanfics… the bit about Mrs. Darkholme is an in-joke.**

**Did I go and look up actual types of mead? Yes, yes I did. Did I use my school's computer to do so? Yes, yes I did. *facepalm***

**Loki's dress is inspired by this picture: www. deviantart art/ Thrymskvida -275130952 **

**Thor's dress is not based on that picture, because I couldn't imagine Thor with nearly hairless arms, while Loki is much easier to picture as such.**

**I apologize for the completely unrealistic notion that Loki would have trouble with word problems. I just had trouble thinking of ANY school subject he'd really have trouble with, and I panicked. Feel free to pretend that these word problems are solving the problem of world hunger or something, one math problem at a time. **

**Next Chapter: The things you do for family.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: ****"No! No, no, no, no! I know that look!" –Loki, **_**Thor**_

**A/N: I don't condone robbing banks, for the record. I feel like I should just throw that out there, to make sure. A lot of illegal things happen in this story. I am not advocating any of them.**

**That being said, I am so, so sorry for the poor quality of bank-robbery that occurs in this story. Forgive me, Danny Ocean I am not, and heist-fic is not exactly my strong suit. I know it's too easy and I am sorry if it bores you.**

* * *

**Chapter 8:** **Det er derfor jeg skriver kapitteltitler i norsk**

Alternatively titled: In which "more important things" include robbing a bank.

* * *

(Okay, Tony, remember the warning from last time? Same rules.)

Thrym crossed his arms over his chest and stared us down.

"So," he rumbled, "why have the sons of Odin come to pester me at my own wedding?"

Thor growled. In his current accoutrements, it should not have been intimidating.

It was.

"That is the Allfather, to you," my brother said. "We are here on behalf of our Cousin, Freyr, and his sister, Freya."

"Yes," Thrym said, not sounding as impressed as he should have by an angry Thor. "My bride. Whom you have kidnapped."

I studied my fingernails. "I'm pretty sure that you kidnapped her first," I pointed out, "thereby rendering any further kidnapping on our part as more of a rescue."

Thrym smiled at me nastily. "I suppose I could make do with a replacement," he leered. I stiffened and Thor positively _snarled_.

"Shut up," he said to Thrym, "we're not here to talk about your ruined dreams for a white picket fence."

Sometimes, I'm reminded that Thor _does _know what sarcasm is, and how to use it well. He can be _cutting_ when he wants to be.

"We are here," Thor continued, "to talk about money." Thrym straightened up and stopped being creepy. Well. As much as he could stop being creepy.

"Ah," he said. "The money that Freyr owes me."

Thor leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. "How much?" he asked.

Thrym didn't bother trying to lie. Not only would we have spotted it almost instantly here, but he didn't need to. It was already a lot of money without him embellishing it any.

"Fifty thousand."

"Fifty thousand?" I sputtered. "What did he even want it for?"

"House payments?" Thor suggested mildly. "He needed it to pay the bills when our shipments came late." The Family's latest venture had ended in some late shipments arriving to the warehouses, which meant lost time, lost money, and several lost men when the police got wind of what was happening. Needless to say, Odin had not been pleased.

I stared at him, mouth open. "But I thought Freyr and Freya were living at Yggdrasil!" I cried. Thor shook his head.

"Not for a few months now," he said. His voice was in no way judgmental, but I still felt somewhat scolded as he said, "See what you miss when you don't come home for so long?"

I bit my lip. "I…"

Thrym was watching us with interest. "Trouble?" he asked, sounding pleasant. I wanted to stab him.

"No," Thor replied sternly, turning back to the man with a frown. As much as Thor disliked to leave a conversation with unresolved issues, he would never want to talk about our private lives in front of anyone else. The Family was tight knit that way; our _family _even more so.

"Thrym," Thor said now, the Allfather's lieutenant in every way, "what would it take for you to forgive Freyr's debt?"

Thrym leaned forward now, matching Thor's posture. "Nothing less than the full payment," he said seriously. Real money was on the table. Posturing aside, this was business now. "With interest, of course."

I did some quick mental calculations. "Seventy-five thousand?" I said. Thrym nodded, grudgingly.

"And if it isn't paid?" I asked. The nasty smile returned. With interest.

"Then I will take my payment in flesh. Pretty Freya will be the compensation of her brother's debt."

I swear, I could _feel _Thor's gaze harden.

"Well," I said into the harsh, cold silence that had fallen suddenly. "We can't have that."

000

"We're going to do _what_?" Thor asked incredulously, staring at me like I'd just suggested we dress in drag and crash a wedding. Oh wait.

"We're going to complete Freyr's bank heist," I repeated calmly, passing my brother in the narrow hallway of my apartment on my way to the kitchen. I shrugged my shoulders, glad to be out of the awkward, constricting dress and in comfortable jeans and a too-big sweatshirt once more.

"Is that mine?" Thor asked suddenly, temporarily distracted from his shock. I looked down at myself as I scooped coffee into the pot.

"Um," I said. It was, actually. I must have lifted it sometime when I was over at Yggdrasil. Or maybe Thor had left it here on one of his many attempts to convince me to come home to Yggdrasil. Or maybe…

Or maybe we were brothers, and our clothes, like so much of our lives, were so intermingled that trying to figure out exactly what belonged to who was both a pointless and exhausting exercise. Sometimes, in the rush of moving away from home and going to college and leaving the Family Business behind, I forgot that I had by no means left my _family_ behind. Thor was still entrenched in nearly every part of my life.

"Loki," Thor said, moving into the kitchen and leaning on the counter next to me. I carefully ignored him, continuing to make coffee. Strong, but not _too_ strong, was the key. "Loki."

Did I want straight black coffee today, or my usual syrup?

"_Loki_," Thor finally moved into my personal space and raised his voice slightly in exasperation.

"_What_?" I shot back, just to be annoying, since I knew perfectly well why he was irritated. He took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled.

"Look, brother," he said, "I'm glad you want to help Freya and Freyr. But we are not robbing a bank. We'll pay the ransom some other way."

"With what money, Thor?" I gestured widely, not really intending the motion to mean anything other than a general expression of my feelings. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a college student. It's a miracle that I can even keep my apartment. There's no way I have seventy-five thousand dollars to spare. And all of _your_ money comes from the Family, which _dear Father _has already made a non-option."

Thor swore creatively.

"I can relate," I said dryly, turning back to the percolating coffee. Thor slumped beside me, elbows coming to rest on the countertop, head hanging.

"We're going to have to rob a bank aren't we, little brother."

I patted him on the head gingerly. "It could be worse," I offered.

"How?" he sounded suspicious. I reached over and pulled a pair of coffee mugs out of the cupboard.

"We could be begging Dad for help."

He lifted his head and considered. "That is true," he said, inexplicably brightening, even though I'd just reminded him that our father was going to be absolutely furious with us for what we were about to do. Thor really is ridiculously optimistic sometimes. Very glass-half-full. It's annoying.

We stayed at the counter for awhile, drinking our coffee and bickering about… something. We do that a lot, Thor and I. We just argue, for no real reason, about something stupid. It was probably about Darcy Lewis again, or something.

Finally, "Loki," Thor said, "we need to come up with a plan." He gave me a look. "Without alcohol, this time."

I tried to look innocent and probably failed miserably. "Naturally, Thor," I said, blinking at him. He rolled his eyes at me and led us both out of the kitchen and into the living room.

"Okay," I said, thinking hard about what we needed to consider here. "Freyr tried a hold-up, right?"

"Right," my brother confirmed, sitting down on the couch and looking up at me as I paced. He sounded like he was weary of dealing with headstrong kids playing at being mobsters.

_Too bad, Thor_, I sneered mentally. _You dragged me into this, and now I'm here. No take-backs._

(And yes, Tony, I'm aware that I wasn't at my most mature at that point.)

"So since Freyr's hold-up didn't work, then we'll have to try something different."

"Like what?" Thor asked, forehead furrowing as he frowned in confusion. I didn't answer, more than content to allow big brother to come to this conclusion on his own. I knew the exact second Thor understood. His blue eyes widened, and he immediately began shaking his head.

"Oh no," he said.

"Oh yes," I smirked.

"Loki, _no_."

"Thor, _yes_."

"Father will kill us."

"Freya," I reminded him. "And Freyr."

He swore, comprehensively. I was impressed. Thor had been holding out on me. I didn't even know what _wuh duh ma huh tah duh fong kwong duh wai shung _meant. I let Thor fume for a few more moments before piping up again.

"Look," I said, coming to a stop in front of him, "it's this or going to Dad for help. We can't just hold up the same bank twice in two weeks."

"We could hold-up a different bank," he tried hopefully. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down.

"Thor, Thor, Thor," I _tsked_. "Where is your Family pride?" I stressed the capital letter, knowing he could hear it. He rolled his eyes. I waited patiently. I can be patient when I need to be. I'm not patient when I'm on a bus, surrounded by other people who might be kidnappers or assassins, and I'm not patient when I'm in Physics 210 and Clint Barton is being a birdbrain. I'm definitely not patient when Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster start arguing about Jane asking out the cute pre-med who keeps checking her out, but I can be patient while waiting for Thor.

(Really. I can. That one time I had a panic attack because Thor was late to pick me up from my therapy session doesn't count, Tony. There were extenuating circumstances. The guy in the waiting room with me had black paint _smeared around his eyes_. I'm pretty sure he had an arm made of metal, too. If that's not extenuating circumstances, I don't know what is.)

I didn't have to wait very long. Thor caved almost immediately.

"Fine," he huffed. "We'll break into the bank vault and crack the safe."

I grinned with more enthusiasm than I usually showed. "Excellent," I said, folding my legs underneath me and sitting cross-legged on top of the coffee table, facing Thor. He gave me a Look.

"So I can't prop my feet up on your coffee table, but you get to _sit _on it?" he grumbled.

"My coffee table," I pointed out smugly. "Now, focus. We need blueprints of the bank. And I'll need some tools."

Thor shrugged. "I'll call Sif and the Warriors Three." I made a face.

"Can you just call Sif and one of the Warriors Three?" I asked.

"Which one?"

"Hogun?" I liked Hogun alright. He didn't really talk to me much, but that was probably why I liked him.

"Hogun isn't really the 'blueprints' guy," Thor informed me with a wry grin. "And before you say anything else, I'd like to remind you that they would all be very hurt if you didn't include them all in a 'Silvertongue Scheme,' and that you owe them for not dragging you back to Yggdrasil two Sundays ago."

I groaned. Why my "schemes" were so popular with Thor's friends, I'll never know. They never liked my mischief when they were the targets, of course, but turn it on anyone else and they were suddenly willing and eager participants in any plan I cooked up. Sif and the Warriors Three might have thought I was strange and irritating most of the time, but they certainly enjoyed watching other people get the brunt of my sense of humor.

Once, a long time ago, when I was maybe six or seven years old, Sif and the older boys were having a sleepover, and I wasn't invited. Never mind that Sif, being a girl and not inclined to enjoy the body odor of pre-teen boys who sweat in their sleep, had her own room and wasn't included in the actual sleepover portion of the evening either. I was still upset. (Okay, and also hurt, and a bit jealous. Thor was _my _big brother after all, and who did these three think they were, coming in and stealing him from me all night?) I pitched a fit, of course, and Thor had been about to cave until Dad just picked me up and hauled me off to his study. He sat behind his desk, holding me on his lap until I calmed down and stopped sniffling and crying, and then he let me go and sent me off to play by myself. Mom tried to make me feel better, but even time spent alone with Frigga wasn't enough for me that night.

I'm kind of needy sometimes.

So anyway, sometime during the night, I woke up and decided that it would be _hilarious_ if I played a prank on Sif, who was sleeping in the room on the other side of the hallway from mine. I climbed out of bed and sneaked out of my room and into hers, completely silent.

Sif, at the time, had long, beautiful blonde hair that reached past her waist and had approximately the style, waviness, and general desirability of your average Disney princess' hair. It was, frankly, gorgeous, and I actually really, really liked it.

And so, naturally, I took a pair of scissors and chopped it all off.

Tony, this may come as a shock to you, but sometimes, I'm an idiot.

It was one of the only times Thor has ever truly been angry with me. He was shouting and waving his arms and red in the face and it would have been funny if I wasn't trying desperately not to burst into tears. It was awful. Not only was Thor angry with me, but Sif's lovely golden hair was gone, and it was all my fault. I think the fact that I clearly was miserable and furious with myself was the only thing that saved me from Thor actually beating me up that morning. In contrast, Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg thought the whole thing was hilarious. Even after Sif punched Fandral in the stomach, they didn't stop laughing until I, genuinely remorseful, for once, started crying.

(Thor softened instantly, of course. Sif was still mad, but she didn't yell at me anymore.

Even at six they all thought I was pitiful.)

Sif forgave me, eventually, even though her hair had grown in again dark brown instead of blonde. It probably helped that I kept her supplied with bows, headbands, and scrunchies until I was well into my teens. By then, I had nearly forgotten why I periodically brought Sif presents of hair products. She hadn't, but when I was fifteen, we reached an unspoken agreement that I had more than paid for my mischief by this point, and I was free of the debt.

Sif often participated in pranks that I wanted to play on the Warriors Three, especially during their (extremely brief) phase where hanging out with girls wasn't allowed by "code" or whatever. It was Sif who first called me "Silvertongue," after I had managed to talk the Three into trying a special drink we had prepared. It was composed mainly of hot sauce. A juvenile prank, but an amusing one, nevertheless. Even the Three had laughed. Later. Much later.

The point to all of that, is that Thor's friends, for some reason, think that my plans are great as long as they aren't the targets of them. And to join Thor and I in robbing a bank? A highly-appreciated honor, I guess.

The Family is weird.

Like, really weird.

"Ugh. Alright," I said finally. "Call them all."

Thor smirked at me. "Already done. While you were off daydreaming, or whatever it was you were doing staring off into space, I called them and asked them to grab some safecracking gear and whatever else we'd need to break into a bank vault. They'll be here in half an hour."

I took a deep breath. "Good. That gives us some time to come up with a distraction."

000

For the love of… I don't know, science. You like science, right, Tony? For the love of science, _please _keep the doctor/patient confidentiality clause for this next part? If you don't, I will personally toss your laptop, your smart phone, and _you_ right off the top of your stupid, shiny tower of a psychologist's office.

So we robbed the bank. It was very easy.

Here's how it went down.

Thor and I strolled into the bank casually, followed distantly by Fandral and Sif. Why were we robbing the bank in broad daylight, you may ask? Because it's unexpected, and also because I was not in the mood to show up to Dr. Selvig's eight o'clock physics lecture on Thursday while I was still sleep-deprived from staying up all night breaking into a bank vault.

Sif and Fandral made for an excellent distraction with the help of Volstagg, who started a fight in the middle of the lobby.

"Hey!" he yelled at Fandral. "What do you think you're doing with my girl?"

Fandral smirked. "Back off, man. She's mine now."

Volstagg shouted in fury, Sif stepped between them, the security guards watching the gate leading to the back room where the vault was located stepped forward, hands on batons and ready to intervene. Thor and I slipped behind them and into the room with the vault.

We waited in silence for a moment, holding our breath until the commotion died down. Fandral, Sif, and Volstagg left, and the guards returned to the posts, backs to the closed door of the room in which we stood. When we were sure we weren't about to be interrupted, I took a deep breath and relaxed.

Looking at my brother, I mouthed, _Ready?_

_Ready, _he mouthed back. I nodded and turned to face the safe.

Cracking a safe is more of an art than a science. There are many different types of safes, and each of them must be opened in a different way. Some people use pure force, levers and hinges. Others prefer to blow the safe open using controlled explosions. That would be my favorite method, were it not for my other talents (besides blowing things up, I mean).

I stood next to the giant handle of the safe and studied the combination lock. It was extremely old-school –no keypad, no touch screen, no fingerprints or eye scans necessary. Just good old-fashioned lock-picking and listening for the tumblers.

I held out my hand imperiously, and Thor handed me the stethoscope. Placing it against the door, I adjusted the tips in my ears and listened hard. Twisting the lock, I heard each tumbler slide in and out of each other, one by one. Sometimes they caught, only to slip again at the last minute as I was ready to move on. And then, finally, the first notch slid into place, and after that, the second and third came easily.

I pulled away from the safe door and motioned for Thor to open it slowly. The blueprints Fandral had gotten for us hadn't shown any hidden traps for thieves, but better safe than sorry. Thor sighed in quiet relief when the door swung free.

_Seventy-five thousand_, I mouthed to him as we moved into the vault and started packing stacks of hundred-dollar bills into our backpacks. He nodded and worked his way quickly through a stack, moving a couple more piles over to take its place. The more time before the missing money was noticed, the better.

Backpacks bulging, we finished collecting our seventy-five thousand, did some more rearranging, and then quietly left the vault, closing the safe door and spinning the lock to reset it. Then, I shot a quick text to Sif and Fandral.

_We're ready._

This time, Sif came storming into the lobby from outside, followed by Fandral and Volstagg, who were both yelling loudly that she had no right to money from either of them and she'd never see a cent. They clustered right at the desk, each of them demanding to be allowed access to the non-existent account, and easily drawing the attention of our guards. We cracked the door open a tiny bit, just enough to see when the guards left the door to go help the poor teller. Thor and I moved quickly, leaving the room and closing the door behind us.

We were out the door and into Hogun's hunk-of-junk in four seconds.

It was so easy, I would have been suspicious, except that we didn't get caught. At all. Even Fandral, Sif, and Volstagg made it out, though the security guards did give them some help with that.

Honestly, Tony, it may have been illegal as all get out, but it was more fun than I'd had in months, and seriously, if the bank was going to make it that easy to rob them, then really, we were just doing them a favor by pointing out the weak points in their security system.

Namely, their entire security system.

We regrouped at my apartment, and Sif and the Warriors Three took themselves off to Yggdrasil, after extracting a promise from both me and Thor that we would go home as soon as possible. When they had gone, Thor turned and gave me a stern look.

"Are you really going to do your best to make it to dinner tomorrow night?" he asked skeptically. I smiled innocently.

"Of course I am, Thor. I promised, didn't I?"

He snorted. "You and I both know that doesn't mean a thing."

"I keep my promises when it's important, Thor," I said, stung. He raised an eyebrow.

"And seeing your family is not important?" he asked. I rolled my eyes, slinging my backpack off of my shoulders and shoving it into his arms.

"I've got enough on my plate without dealing with Dad in one of his moods, Thor," I snapped.

"Like what?" he snapped back. "School? Didn't seem to bother you today! Work? Your magic shows? You're lucky to be booked once a week as it is! What exactly has got you so busy you don't have time for your family anymore?"

"Maybe I'm tired of being watched all the time!" I exploded, getting right up into his face. He'd let the bags full of money fall to the ground as I stepped forward, and now we stood, practically nose to nose, glaring at each other fiercely.

"What are you talking about?" he gritted out. I laughed, sharply.

"Hugin and Munin, following me around campus. You and your friends, appearing in my apartment at all hours. When I'm at Yggdrasil, Mom is constantly fussing over me, and Dad never ever lets up on letting me know that I've disappointed him. And then there's this… someone who keeps following me around everywhere, and I don't know who it is or where they are ever or what they want and it's freaking me out so much I can't even think straight enough to tell you to shove it when you come to me asking for help with mob business! Everywhere I go, someone is watching me."

"You like attention," Thor pointed out, suddenly soothing and wary, like I was a skittish horse.

I shook my head angrily. "Not when it's just everyone smothering me! Everyone just wants to know – 'when will Loki cave and come back home,' 'when will Loki finally get kicked out of class for mouthing off,' 'when will Loki stop being so stubborn and do as I say.' 'When will Loki let his guard down enough for me to murder him in a dark alley somewhere.'"

"What?" Thor blinked in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean? And what did you mean someone is following you? Other than Hugin and Munin, I mean."

I shook my head, still fired up and ready to fight. "Oh nothing much. Just that I apparently have a stalker is all. And I'm not talking about Darcy Lewis, either."

He was seriously frowning now. "Why haven't you told me about this before? Or Hugin and Munin?"

I glared at him. "Because I can handle myself, Thor! I don't need a babysitter."

He growled in frustration and reached out to grasp me by the shoulders. "You might need more than that if you're being stalked by someone! Come on, Loki, use your head!"

"Use my head?" I snarled, planting my hands against his chest and shoving. To my great annoyance, he barely moved. Thor was still truly my "big" brother.

"Think, Loki! You could be in danger!" he gave me a small shake. Stepping away from him quickly, I batted his hands away.

"You think?" I retorted sarcastically. "This guy is _good_, Thor. I haven't seen him at _all_. Hugin and Munin haven't seen him either, or they would have done something about it. I only know he's there are all because I can _feel _him watching me."

My brother now looked half-concerned, half-exasperated. "So you've never actually seen anyone? Geez, Loki. I thought you were being threatened or something." His voice gentled a little. "Are –are you sure? You have been known to be… paranoid about these things sometimes."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Yes, Thor, I'm _sure_. Besides," I muttered under my breath, "it's not paranoia if everyone really _is _out to get you."

Thor gave me his best I'm The Big Brother look. "Loki, you need to come home. We'll tell Dad about this, and he'll make sure you're safe."

"Yeah, and then never let me out of his sight ever again!" I shot back. "No way."

"Loki, this is not up for discussion," he growled. "Go pack a bag. I'll take these," he stooped and scooped up the backpacks of money, "over to Thrym, and then you and I are going to Yggdrasil. Understand? Be ready to go when I get back."

I hunched my shoulders into my crossed arms and didn't look at him.

"_Loki_."

"Fine," I said, anything to make him go. I was tired and annoyed and suddenly wanting nothing more than to set something on fire. Thor stared at me sternly for a couple more minutes before nodding firmly and turning to leave the apartment.

I didn't pack while he was gone.

I didn't set anything on fire, either, so that was progress, at least. (You would have been proud, Tony.)

Instead of doing something productive, however, I sat on my couch and chewed on my bottom lip and worried about what Thor was going to do when he came back and found me without a bag packed. I'd probably get dumped into his car with just the clothes on my back, and then have to make do at Yggdrasil with borrowed clothes and without my laptop for the foreseeable future. Not a pleasant thought.

As it turned out, I didn't even have to worry about Thor though, because just as I was debating getting up to go throw some things into a duffel bag, my apartment door swung open with a bang and two people barged in.

* * *

**A/N: I want to make it clear that anything you might see Thrym implying towards Loki in the beginning of the chapter will never be brought up again. Totally a one-off, will not return, if anyone was worried. Thrym is just a creep like that.**

**Spot the Marvel cameo! I had just seen CATWS when I wrote this chapter, as I'm sure you can all tell.**

**This phrase, by the way, is a Mandarin expression from the show Firefly (of which Thor is a fan): **_**Wuh duh ma huh tah duh fong kwong duh wai shung**_**. It translates to "Holy mother of God and all her wacky nephews." Or, at least, I hope that's what it translates to. If any Mandarin-speakers are reading this and I just wrote something really offensive, I am very sorry.**

**Next Chapter: The reason Odin is no longer in charge of family night.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: ****"Stalling me won't change anything." –Loki, **_**Avengers**_

**A/N: Thanks to all reviewers! **

* * *

**Chapter 9: Selv om denne historien er en mobb AU**

Alternatively titled: In which family bonding time backfires. Big time.

* * *

I sat sullenly in the back of the car with my arms crossed over my chest. I was pouting, and I knew it, but I didn't bother to school my expression. Who cared if I looked like a petulant teenager? Apparently I was going to be treated like one no matter what I did. I could be the most mature twenty year old on the planet and the Family would still act like I was a little kid, so why bother trying to assert my age?

When the Ravens burst into my apartment, I was scrambling for my gun in seconds, swinging and chambering a round. It took Munin about five seconds to cross the room and take the gun out of my shaking hands, and then I couldn't see anything, because Hugin had blindfolded me with a black scarf before dumping me in the backseat of the car. Munin had laughed, a low chuckle that made me grit my teeth and silently swear vengeance.

"Why the blindfold?" I complained.

"Standard procedure," Munin tossed cheerfully over his shoulder. I snarled wordlessly and he laughed again.

"Ooh, did I make you angry?" he snickered. "What are you going to do about it?"

_I'm going to rip your eyeballs out of your head and feed them to you_, I though viciously, scowling even more and pushing back into the seat as though I could burrow there if I pushed hard enough. Therapist Number Two had told me to visualize my violent thoughts in detail. That way, I would be less tempted to act on that violence. Most of the violent thoughts I've had have been directed towards therapists, so you can thank Dr. Strange for that, Tony.

Yes, that is his real name.

"Loki," Hugin spoke up suddenly.

"What?" I answered reluctantly. Hugin had been the one to blindfold me, after all, though his hands had been gentle and he had not tied it tighter than he had to.

"Your father is worried about you."

"Is he? Well, then, that's fine. Why didn't you say so in the first place? As long as _Father _wants to see me, then it's just _fine _that you kidnapped me out of my own apartment. It's just _fine _that every time _he _wants me to do something, I have to drop everything and come running. Because he's _worried_ about me, that makes it all better!"

By the end of my rant, I was breathing hard, clenching my fingers into the sides of my t-shirt and shuddering. I couldn't see. I couldn't see, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see I couldn't see…

"Loki. LOKI!"

I came back to myself to find the blindfold removed and Munin's face inches from mine. To my embarrassment, I flinched back. He didn't say anything about it, though, he just watched me, concerned.

"Are you okay?" he said carefully. I nodded, slowly, taking deep breaths as calmly as I could. He didn't look convinced, but I mustered a glare and he backed off entirely.

"Hugin is going to sit next to you for the rest of the ride. Is that alright?" he asked deliberately. I glanced at the other Raven, who cocked his head to the side like the bird itself and blinked at me slowly. Sighing, I nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, okay."

Munin squeezed my shoulder. "We're almost there, kid. Sorry about the blindfold."

I shrugged and waved him off, determined to at least pretend that I hadn't just had a panic attack in the backseat of my mobster babysitter's car.

From the looks on both of the Raven's faces, I didn't really succeed. Thor was going to be so mad…

Thor. Snapdragons.

"Munin, did you call Thor before you grabbed me?" I asked urgently. He looked in the rearview mirror and met my eyes with a puzzled frown as he restarted the car.

"No."

"Hgggg," I hissed, scrambling for my phone. "Hugin, let me borrow your phone, I have to call Thor now and mine is –" Hugin's hand appeared in front of my face, dangling my phone from his long white fingers –"right here apparently. Thanks, glad someone was thinking straight in all of this." I hit Thor's speed dial and waited impatiently for him to pick up.

"Loki?" my brother's angry voice answered the phone. "Where are you? I swear to the Norns, brother, if you've run off –"

"Thor!" I interrupted. "Shut up! Hugin and Munin came and kidnapped me. We're on our way to Yggdrasil. You're supposed to come to, I guess. Dad's calling us home."

Thor sighed heavily, a sigh of relief. "Norns, Loki, I thought you'd been kidnapped for real. Again." That was a real fear of my brother's, that I would be kidnapped like I had been two years ago. I felt a sort of vindictive thrill, knowing that Thor would be furious with the Ravens for scaring him like that.

"No, nothing like that. Dad's just in such an all-fire hurry to have us home, he had to send the Ravens after me to make sure I came."

"The Ravens?" Munin laughed up front. "Is that what you call us?"

I rolled my eyes and ignored him. "I'm fine, Thor, come meet us at Yggdrasil, okay?"

"Okay," Thor hesitated. "Are you _sure _you're okay?"

My brother is no cunning mastermind. He's intelligent, in his own way, but certainly he isn't a genius. Sometimes, I'll admit, I feel like I'm smarter than him, like he's a clumsy oaf who couldn't think his way out of his own bedroom. It's nasty, but it's true. (Therapy is a time for Truth, right, Tony? You told me that.)

But then, sometimes Thor will look at me, and he'll just _see_. He'll get straight to the point of whatever I am thinking, and that's when I remember that, even though it often annoys me and infuriates me, my brother knows me better than anyone else in the world. I cannot hide from him, not the important things. And it's frustrating, and it makes me angry sometimes, because I don't want him to be that close. I don't want Thor to know me inside and out and to be able to puzzle out the inner working of my mind. But he can't help that he can do it anymore than I can help that I can't stand public transportation. It's a part of my brother and that's all there is to it.

"I'm sure," I told Thor, even though I really wasn't. "See you at Yggdrasil."

"See you at _home_," he corrected, hanging up before I could get the last word in.

000

There's something particularly daunting about returning home to your parents. Especially when you've disappointed them in some way. Repeatedly.

Especially when your father is a mob boss. That just sort of ramps up the intimidation factor.

Odin was waiting in the garage when Munin pulled the car inside. He opened the door and stared down at me impassively. Hugin and Munin climbed out and stood next to the car awaiting Odin's orders respectfully.

"Thank you," my father said to them, not looking away from me for a second. "Go on inside. I think we're finished for tonight."

The Ravens nodded and gave me sympathetic smiles from behind Odin's back, then escaped into the house. They both had their own rooms in Yggdrasil, and they probably would be in them for the rest of the evening, unless they decided to come down and watch TV or something.

Mob houses are kind of like orphanages for adults.

My father stepped back and swung the door wider. "Loki," he said calmly, "come on."

Reluctantly, I slid out of the car to awkwardly stand in front of my father. He didn't say anything, just reached around me to shut the car door. He gestured with one hand, motioning for me to precede him into the house. He didn't touch me. I told myself I was glad.

My mother greeted us in the kitchen.

"Loki, darling!" she smiled, opening her arms to me and clasping me tight when I came to them. "I've missed you! You missed dinner," she scolded in the next breath, though it was a light reprimand compared to what skipping Sunday dinner would usually earn. I winced, sure now that whatever my father was planning to say would not be pleasant.

"Hi, mom," I managed, hugging her back. "Sorry. About Sunday."

She waved it away, forgiving me immediately, as usual. "Don't worry about it. Where is your brother?" She addressed the question to me, but looked to my father. Make no mistake, Frigga d'Asgard was perfectly aware of the sorts of methods her husband employed to get his way. Kidnapping his own son wasn't even a fraction of it. For all that she never personally participated (I couldn't even _imagine_ my mom actually working in the Family Business), she had a very developed sense of practicality. Mom knew that having the Ravens grab me was the most efficient way to get me back to Yggdrasil, and, well. Mom didn't mess around when it came to her sons.

"Thor is coming along," my dad said smoothly. "He had to take care of a little business."

I glanced at him sharply. He only stared back, silent and implacable. Of course he knew. It was Odin. He knew what went on in his own business.

"Did Freya and Sigyn get here okay, anyway?" I said finally, resigned to the inevitable.

"Oh, yes," Mom said cheerfully. "The poor girls were a bit shaken, but they're just fine now. They're sharing a room on the same floor as Freyr." She gave my father a look, just a little bit of reproach. Aha. So Mom wasn't entirely happy about the way Dad had handled the situation with Thrym. That could be useful. Thor and I would have an ally.

"Well, come on, you two," Mom said to me and Dad. "Let's get something to eat while we wait for Thor. Loki, we're making meatballs and spaghetti. You go ahead and fix some salad. Odin, dear, would you help slice the garlic bread?"

I'm not allowed to actually cook things, after one too many attempts ending in something being on fire, but I can manage salad, so I washed my hands and got to work. Anything to put off the conversation that was looming in my future.

Thor came in just as Mom finished placing the bowl of pasta and sauce on the table.

"Hello, Ma," my brother said with a smile, coming forward to kiss her cheek. "Family dinner?"

She smiled back, chucking him under the chin like he was a toddler instead of a grown man. "Yes, darling. We're having a private night." She raised an eyebrow, as though expecting him to know why exactly that was. Thor did, and he winced. I hid a smirk, knowing it would just get me into trouble. Irritated as I had been with Thor earlier in the evening, I was glad that he was with me now. I always felt better about being scolded by Dad when Thor was right there alongside me.

I mean, it still sucked, but at least I wasn't alone.

As usual, my father got right to the point. Unusually, he got to the point _casually._

"So, boys, what did you do today?" he asked as Mom loaded our plates with spaghetti and homemade meatballs.

Thor and I sneaked looks at each other out of the corner of our eyes. _You tell him. No, you. _It was exactly as it had been in our childhood. Also like our childhood, Thor caved first.

"We had to help Freyr and Freya," he said, semi-defiantly. Dad gave him an unimpressed stare.

"Freyr got himself into that mess."

"But Freya didn't."

"Thor, I was trying to make a point –"

"At the expense of poor Freya?"

"I wasn't going to leave them!"

We stared at him. Dad sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I wouldn't leave them to Thrym. This was an object lesson to Freyr, to show him that stupid choices have consequences. Apparently, this time, the consequences include my sons becoming bank robbers!" He glared at us both, eyebrows lowering threateningly over his eyes.

"I had to do something!" Thor said. For once, I stayed silent, biting my tongue, hard, to keep from saying all the disrespectful and highly sarcastic things I was thinking.

"So you decided to rob the same bank that Freyr had tried? And you went to Thrym to negotiate, _alone_?"

"I wasn't alone," my brother retorted, and I knew what he was going to say. Immediately, I tried to kick him under the table, only to miss and hit the table leg instead. "Loki was with me."

I winced, and when Thor saw it, his eyes widened suddenly and then he grimaced in understanding.

_Wonderful, brother. Mentioning that you took little brother along to a dangerous, foolhardy meeting. Good going._

"Ah, yes," our father nodded, smiling grimly. "You had Loki with you, how could I forget? Well, Loki, do you have anything to add to the account of this debacle?"

I shrugged. "Well, I suppose I could mention that Freyr is an idiot, but that's really not news, so…"

Odin growled. "Don't be a smart-aleck," he told me, which let's be honest, he might as well have told me to stop breathing. "What part did you play in this stupid plan?"

I hesitated. Lying to the police was one thing, lying to Thor another, but lying to my father was completely and totally different. If he discovered that I was lying, then my days of freedom and living away from Yggdrasil were done. He'd call it punishment for lying, even though I was technically an adult, but it would really just be a way to keep a much closer eye on me than he'd even managed thus far. All he needed was an excuse that would get past my mother, and I'd be under house arrest courtesy of my own father.

And he _would_ know that I was lying, because it was obvious. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't even consider lying in such a case, but these weren't normal circumstances at all. This was a case where it was simply a matter of which would get me into more trouble, telling the truth or lying. I was leaning towards the lie.

"It was my idea," I said finally, meeting my father's eyes as best I could, trying not to flinch beneath the steely glower. "Thor came to me for help and I came up with the plan to go to Thrym and negotiate."

Thankfully, Odin didn't seem interested in the exact details of that plan. He was far more concerned with my decision making process.

"And I'm guessing that you had a bit of help with making this plan, didn't you?" he asked sarcastically, raising a meaningful eyebrow. "Or at least, I'm assuming that that's what you two used the mead you took from my office for." Of course he knew about that, too.

"Loki!" my mother reproached softly.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the twinge I felt in the face of my mother's disapproval. "Well, gee, Dad, you seem to know everything already, I'm not sure why you needed us to tell you about it."

My father's face darkened even more and Thor gripped my arm tightly. "Loki," he said, sharply, cautioning me to hold my tongue. I kept my mouth shut with effort, still looking Odin in the eye.

"You were foolish," he told us both, though he kept his gaze on me. "You could have been killed; or worse, arrested. I expect better from you both."

"We had to help Freya," I muttered again, unable to not point this out to the man who had refused to help even though he had more resources and more clout with the criminal underworld than Thor and I did together.

Odin gritted his teeth. "I wasn't leaving them," he said again, and, oh yeah, he had mentioned that, hadn't he? "I was _trying_ to _prove a point_. Freyr should know better than to go and borrow money from outsiders. If he needs something, he comes to me. That's how it works. That's _why _I'm the boss." He stared right at me. "I don't abandon Family."

Even through the capital letter, I got the message, the implication that _I _had abandoned the family, and that was it, I was done.

"I'm going home," I snarled out, leaping to my feet.

"Sit down, Loki," my father snapped, "you're not going anywhere."

"Are you going to _stop_ me?" I snarled back. He stood up suddenly, placed his hands on the table and leaned into my face. I flinched backwards in spite of myself. Odin was huge, and imposing even when he wasn't furious with me. His beard was virtually bristling with his anger, and his voice was like thunder as he bellowed.

"_YES_!"

My mother reached up to put a gentle hand on my father's arm. Thor was holding mine so tightly I would probably have bruises the next day. Odin and I stood staring at each other silently for a few more seconds before I slowly bent my head and sank back down into my seat.

My father stayed standing for another moment, probably just to let it sink in, and then he slowly sat down. I exhaled shakily, hoping it wasn't obvious that, for just a second, I had been afraid of my father. From the way Thor was watching me, anxious and concerned, it probably was.

Odin let out a sigh of his own and folded his hands on the table. "This disaster with Thrym isn't the only thing we have to discuss," he said carefully. "There's something else."

"Oh, Norns, what now?" Thor muttered.

My father looked grim. Well. Grimmer.

"Laufey," he said. My mom gasped a little, stifling it quickly. Thor groaned.

I let my head fall forward to thump into the table, narrowly missing my plate still half-full of spaghetti.

000

Laufey Jotunr was my father's fiercest business rival and general all around enemy. They were always very civil to each other whenever their mutual status as rich "business men" garnered them invitations to the same social functions and they were forced to be in the same room for more than ten minutes. It was creepy; two men who absolutely despised each other, playing at being friendly in public, both knowing that the instant they got the chance, they would gut the other without the slightest hint of remorse.

Fifteen year old me had wanted to know why Laufey and Odin were always arguing over territory and squabbling over business, instead of just doing something about it. By this, I really meant, why didn't Dad just get rid of Laufey. It wouldn't be all that hard, I thought. Even Laufey's people didn't like Laufey, not like the Family loved Dad. Surely, someone could be bribed to kill the guy. Or even just slip some information to the police. That would do the trick. When I shared this opinion with Thor, however, my brother looked a bit disturbed. Possibly because his little brother was casually suggesting murder, but honestly, what did he expect? Look at who my role models were.

Thor explained that that wasn't how the mob did their business. Sure, sneakiness and tricks were the name of the game in some cases, but in a turf war like this, when the two bosses were polite rivals most of the time, the game was played in politics and business deals, not assassins in the night.

That seemed really inefficient to me, but as the teenage son of Odin d'Asgard, the literal baby of the Family, and, most importantly here, Thor's little brother, I didn't have any say in the matter. Thor told me, from his lofty age of twenty-one, that I was absolutely, under no circumstances to go near Laufey Jotunr unless Dad was standing right next to me. When I pointed out that this sentence didn't exactly make sense, Thor had taken my shoulders and shaken me, hard. He angrily told me that he was serious, that I was to stay away from Laufey. Startled, I could only nod.

"Promise, Loki," he'd insisted.

"I promise," I'd said, eyes wide.

If my father was ruthless in his business deals, then Laufey was brutal. Fail to pay back a loan to my dad and you'd probably get away with a pointed (sometimes literally) visit from Uncle Tyr. Fail to pay back a loan to Laufey Jotunr and you'd be lucky to get away with your sanity. He had this thing about mutilating people, too, so sometimes you'd see someone come off the bad end of a deal with Laufey missing an eye or finger, or covered in scars. He was cruel in a way my father just wasn't. For Odin, the Life was best when it didn't involve killing people, though he was willing enough to do so when the situation called for it. For Laufey, though, the Life just wasn't as much fun when someone wasn't screaming in agony.

Basically (Tony, for your sake, I'll just reiterate here), Laufey Jotunr was a really bad guy, and now my dad was talking about him at the dinner table.

"What about Laufey?" Thor said, tensely. I didn't blame him. Our parents hadn't looked this solemn since Uncle Baldur had nearly died in some freak accident involving mistletoe. (I had nothing to do with it, I swear, it was totally not my fault that Baldur is allergic to mistletoe and how was I supposed to know that Baldur's blind brother, Uncle Hodur, was going to pick it up and chuck it at him? Sheesh. You'd think I'd done it on purpose or something.)

Odin sighed.

"He's been making some threats," he said. "I've been receiving phone calls with the typical heavy breathing and childish intimidation tactics," here, he rolled his eyes. Odin d'Asgard is not impressed with your amateur theatrics. "I've been getting messages, mostly at my office, but no one seems to know how they're getting there, and I think –"

"What kind of messages?" I interrupted, interested in spite of myself. My father glared at me for just a moment and then stood up and left the room. He came back a moment later with a small box in his hands.

"Messages like these," he said, placing the box on the table in front of me. "Now will you shut up, Loki?" He sat back down and I opened the box.

"Odin!" Mom said reprovingly. "Don't tell your son to shut up." Dad rolled his eyes.

"Frigga, he's fine, look," he gestured to me. I was indeed fine, not the slightest bit phased by being told to shut up. "I just need him to be quiet so I can finish. This is important. Can we please focus here?"

Mom subsided, but she still looked disapproving. Dad fixed both me and Thor with a very serious look and then tilted his head to the side as he thought. "Loki," he said, "why don't you take a look at those messages?"

Slowly, I reached into the box and pulled out a little piece of paper that had been folded many times. I unfolded it and read slowly.

It was pretty generic, as threats go. It could have come from any of Dad's rivals, just like the one that had been pinned to my sweater three years ago. However, instead of this threat featuring Standard Mob Intimidation Phrases™, there were specifics. Dad's car type, his office layout, the name of our family home, Yggdrasil. The note ended with the words, _Give my love to Frigga and the kids, L._

I could see why this would be worrying, but to be honest, this wasn't the worst thing that Laufey had ever done. I didn't know why this should be more concerning than that time Laufey had nearly killed half of the city by summoning a demon from the eldritch realms (also known as Surtur, a hitman hired by Laufey, one of the most psychotic violent criminals to ever be re-captured and imprisoned thanks to an anonymous tip placed from the private line of Odin d'Asgard. My father did not approve of using psychopaths as hitmen. Too messy, he said.)

So, since this wasn't as upsetting as I'd thought it would be, what was making Dad so paranoid? I opened my mouth to ask, but the next thing he said distracted me entirely.

"I want you to move back to Yggdrasil."

I stared at him. "What?"

"You're moving back to Yggdrasil."

"No, what? No, I'm not! Dad, we _talked _about this…"

"I'm concerned about Laufey making such an overt and sudden move," my father said calmly, not sounding all that concerned if you asked me. "I will not risk my family, so I want all of us home at Yggdrasil for the foreseeable future."

I glared in outrage. "'The foreseeable future'? That could be months! I have a _life_, Dad! I have classes and shows and –"

"We'll get your coursework sent to us, explain to the university," Odin interrupted, sounding perfectly, infuriatingly reasonable, to counteract my increasingly agitated demeanor. "As for the magic shows," he couldn't quite suppress the smugness that spread across his face at this point, "I'm afraid that you'll just have to put that on hold for a while."

I was shaking with fury. "No!" I exploded. "I _live _off of those shows! I need the money from them!"

"Not while you're living at home," my father pointed out pleasantly. "I want you to move back," he said again.

"What about what _I _want? Dad, _please_."

He just sat back and watched me, unmoved.

"Mom!" I swung around to face my mother, who just gave me a soft look and shook her head.

"Oh, sweetheart, your father is just trying to keep you safe," she said gently. Desperately, I looked to Thor, who could only shrug his shoulders at me, just as helpless as I was in this situation. One does not simply change the mind of Odin d'Asgard once he has made a decision. Even his sons would not bend his will.

Besides, I rather suspected that Thor wouldn't have tried very hard anyway. He was, after all, still hoping that I'd move back on my own. I tried not to resent him for it.

My shoulders slumped. I didn't want to move back here, surrounded by Family and under my father's intense and often unnerving scrutiny. I loved my family, but the taste of freedom I'd gotten from the past year was too sweet to just give up without a fight.

Odin was saying, "I'll get the Uncles and some of the Cousins to help you move your things, and your room is still yours, obviously, so –" and that was when I stood up from the table and said "no" to my father for the second time that night.

"I'm going home," I said. "I'll be back for Sunday dinner this week, Mom, I promise. See you later, brother." I headed for the door, hoping I'd somehow reach it before my dad snapped out of whatever dazed shock my defiance had sent him into. Naturally, I didn't make it.

"You're not going anywhere," he snapped, standing as well and stalking after me. Mom and Thor jumped up and followed us as we both stomped toward the front door. "Loki d'Asgard, don't walk away from me! Loki!"

He caught up with me and grabbed me by the arm. I struggled for exactly one second before giving it up and just standing there, fuming.

"What is wrong with you?" my father scolded, giving me a none-too-gentle shake. "You don't just walk away from me when I tell you to do something. You know better than that!"

My mother and brother both looked like they wanted to say something, but, probably wisely, thought better of it and just watched the two of us, centered in the doorway of Yggdrasil like a tableau of disappointment, frustration, and miscommunication.

I mumbled something that sounded like an apology and he relaxed and let go of my arm.

"Come on now," he said, now coaxing, like I was a wild animal needing gentling. "You'll spend the night here and then we'll get you moved tomorrow."

I took a deep breath and said, "No." My father stilled.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" he said, voice like steel.

"I mean I'm not moving back to Yggdrasil. I'm going home, and then I'll be back for Sunday dinner."

Odin lost it. I don't exactly remember everything he yelled, but it was all generally along the same theme. I was ungrateful. I was stupid and frustrating and didn't know what was best for me. I obviously couldn't be trusted to take care of myself, so why was I being so difficult when my family tried to do it for me? Stupid, reckless, idiotic _brat_ that I was, couldn't I see that I was endangering the whole family by acting this way? What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just cooperate? Why couldn't I just understand? _Why couldn't I just obey_?

Somewhere in the middle, I ran for the door. My father tried to grab me as I went by, but this time my mom grabbed his arm and stopped him, saying something to him. I made it all the way out and down the driveway, running as fast as I could, not scared (I was _not scared) _just _angry_. Thor shouted after me, but I didn't hear what he said.

It wasn't until I reached the bus stop that I recalled what my mother had said to my father that made him pause.

"_No, please, honey, let him go. You have to let him go, before you drive him even further away."_

I huffed, breathing hard. I wasn't _scared_. I wasn't like some cowering kitten that needed to be coddled. My dad grabbing me by the arm wasn't frightening in the least, especially considering some of the things I'd seen him do with those same hands in the past. Sure, it was sort of… upsetting to have my father screaming at me, and yeah, okay, for a moment there, I had been a bit… anxious over what he was going to do to me for defying him like that, but I wasn't _scared._ Absolutely not.

(You know all this, anyway, Tony. Therapy Thursday, right? I'm sure I came in and ranted all about it for the entire hour, so yeah.)

I stood there, waiting for a bus, for twenty minutes before I realized that it was past nine o'clock and it would be another hour before the next bus arrived. Even more irritated now, I started to walk home.

My apartment building loomed up in front of me like a mountain of cold brick and colder tenants, and I shivered slightly. The temperature wasn't low in the least, but for some reason, I felt a chill.

And eyes.

My mysterious stalker, who I had actually completely forgotten about, was nearby.

Still hyped up on adrenaline from the fight with Dad, and totally in the right frame of mind to disregard common sense entirely, I shouted out into the darkness, "Who are you?!"

Silence was my answer.

"What do you want?!"

Nothing.

"Leave me alone!" I tried next, and this time, I got the strangest sense that the watcher was amused by this.

"Just… just go away," I said, quieter this time. "Please, just go away."

To my surprise, I felt the invasive presence recede almost immediately. They were gone.

I took a shaky breath. The hair on the back of my neck and my arms was standing straight up. I felt like I'd stuck my finger in an electric socket.

(Not that I have ever done that in the past and thus have extensive, first-hand knowledge of what that actually feels like. Of course not.)

The watcher was gone. I was alone. I was alone, I was exhausted, I'd just had an awful fight with my father, and now, to top off a truly appalling day, I was going to have to go into Dr. Selvig's 8 AM physics lecture without having any of my reading done, and on minimal sleep.

This officially sucked.

I rolled my eyes so hard they practically ground themselves in their sockets and went inside my apartment.

* * *

**A/N: Happy update day, guys!**

**My tumblr: indigo-night-wisp. tumblr. com**

**Next Chapter: ****The universe hates Loki, and other statements from Captain Obvious.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: ****"Please tell me you're going to appeal to my humanity." –Loki, **_**Avengers**_

**A/N: I went and looked up quantum field generators in order to properly picture the first scene I hope my dedication is appreciated.**

**Also, I do not science. So I am sorry about pretty much all of the "science" in this entire fic.**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Og nordmenn sannsynligvis ikke er gangstere**

Alternatively titled: In which Odin attempts to reconcile and fails miserably.

* * *

The next few days were basically awful. I didn't go to my physics lecture on Thursday. I barely made it to therapy (which you know, Tony). I had my Literature class, _Shakespeare and the Soul_, with Professor Stewart later in the afternoon, which I did make it to. Friday was fun, what with _A New Perspective on American History_ and then _Advanced Mathematical Reasoning _later in the afternoon. Professor Banner asked me to stay for a moment after class to talk about my last test, but I must have looked as awful as I felt, because he took pity on me and told me to come into his office on Monday instead. So I avoided that, only to run into a scowling Clint Barton, who shoved a pile of paper at me which turned out to be the notes from the physics lecture from Thursday. This was, naturally, confusing, since Barton actually, literally hates me.

Uninterested in analyzing the no-doubt equally dull and horrifying depths of Barton's psyche, I mumbled a quick "thanks" and escaped as quickly as I could to the laboratory.

I was in the middle of setting up an electro-magnetic force field, using a half-dead battery, a paperclip, two rubber bands, and a piece of yarn I'd found stuck to the bottom of the cardboard box I'd found the battery in, when Jane Foster decided to engage me in conversation for only the third time in our acquaintance.

The thing you have to understand, Tony, is that Jane Foster is a _good _person. She's unendingly intelligent, unerringly witty, and unfailingly kind. Slightly absentminded, true, but ultimately, Jane Foster is one of the absolute _best_ people I know. The only person I can think of who is kinder than she is would be Thor.

And maybe not even Thor, because, let's be honest, Thor occasionally breaks people's faces for a living.

Despite Jane Foster's inherent goodness, I liked her. I couldn't help it. You can't _not _like Jane. You, I suspect, would love her, Tony. She's very fond of Science, which you seem to enjoy a somewhat inordinate amount, considering that you're a psychologist, not a physicist.

Actually, Tony, that's rather odd, now that I think of it? How on earth did you become a psychologist when you seem to have so much more interest in all the other areas of science? It's –

Not the point of writing this. Right.

Anyway, Jane Foster decided to come talk to me while I was building a force field. She sat down on the stool across from me at my table and leaned forward on her elbows to whisper, "Quantum Field Generator." She wiggled her eyebrows up and down like that was supposed to mean something to me. I stared at her blankly.

"What?"

"Quantum Field Generator," she repeated. I could _hear _the capital letters. "We should build one."

I had no idea what she was talking about. "Jane Foster," I said, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You know!" she said. "A quantum field generator transfers molecular energy from one place to another. And we should build one."

"Why," I asked, unable to really do more than blink at her in surprise and confusion. Unlike me, I know, but remember that I was having a rough week.

"Because it's cool?" she huffed. "Do we need a better reason?"

I thought about that for a minute and then shrugged. "Okay." She was right. It was cool. And what better reason could we need?

Darcy came in when we had half of it built. The rest of the physics students in the lab had abandoned their projects and come over to help us.

"Jane!" Darcy called out cheerfully, holding aloft one of the two cups in her hands. "I got you coffee!"

"Thanks, Darcy," Jane Foster said cheerfully. Darcy then turned to look at me.

"Oh!" Darcy smirked, as if she had just noticed I was standing there. "What a coincidence, Loki. I just so happen to have an extra coffee here." She held it out to me tantalizingly. I resisted the urge to just reach out and grab it.

Hey, coffee is coffee. And free coffee is something else altogether.

I glared at her instead. "You don't know my coffee order," I said.

"Sweet and black," she retorted promptly, "like your soul." She winked at me cheerfully. Jane Foster laughed.

"Don't tease Loki, Darcy," she scolded lightly. I was too busy quietly freaking out over the fact that Darcy Lewis did, in fact, know my coffee order to realize that she had just called me sweet. She put the coffee down on the table next to me.

"Aw, don't look like that," Darcy said. "It was just a guess." She leaned over the table and changed the subject. "What are you two nerds working on?"

"A quantum field generator," I answered wearily. Unfortunately, I said it just as Jane Foster was enthusiastically chiming in and saying, "A quantum field generator! Isn't that awesome?" at the same time, so I doubt Darcy heard me.

"A quantum field generator, huh?" she grinned. "What does that do?"

"It transfers molecular –Darcy! You know what it does, I just told you earlier today that I wanted to build one if Loki was up for it –"

"Jane!" Darcy was glaring at her friend, eyes darting between me and Jane Foster.

"Oh!" Jane Foster said, clapping a hand over her mouth quickly. "Sorry! I forgot."

"Forgot what?" I asked absentmindedly, frowning at the chamber on the generator. It wasn't quite aligned correctly… I reached out and nudged at it.

"Um, nothing," Darcy said quickly, for some reason kicking Jane Foster under the table when she started to say something. "Did you fix it?" she asked.

"What?" I said, looking up and focusing properly for the first time. I usually tried to avoid too much actual conversation with Darcy, if only because she usually spends the entire time staring at me. Plus, I still wasn't sure how to act around her after she gave me a ride last week.

"The quantum whatever it is. You were fiddling with it. Did you fix it?"

"I, uh, yeah," I stuttered. I hadn't thought she was paying attention. "It should work now."

"Great, then –"

"Loki!"

My head shot up and I stared in horror. Thor was standing at the front of the room, waving at me and beaming.

"Oh, no," I muttered, shrinking down on my stool. It didn't help, of course. My brother came bounding across the room like the big overgrown golden retriever puppy he is.

"So this is where you go after classes!" he said, grinning widely. "And I can see why!" he winked at the two girls, who were standing by looking simultaneously charmed and bemused. "I am Thor," he announced, holding out his hand. "Loki's older brother."

"Really?" Jane Foster, traitor that she is, said interestedly. "Loki's mentioned you a couple of times, I think." She shook his hand and blushed when he bent over and kissed the back of hers.

"He has?" Thor couldn't have looked more pleased if I had suddenly decided to declare myself best friends with Sif and the Warriors Three. He beamed at me. "Why brother, I had no idea you cared!"

I rolled my eyes. "Just because I talk about you doesn't mean I care," I pointed out. "I could be telling them about how annoying you are."

His face fell for only a fraction of a second before I felt guilty. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, Jane Foster chimed in at that moment with, "Oh, but you only said that your brother was older than you, and that he always looks out for you." I glared at her and she stared back at me innocently. She knew what she was doing. Never be fooled by Jane Foster's innocent face. She is devious as anything.

"Did you?" Thor said, his grin returning in full force. I rolled my eyes again.

"Don't let it go to your head," I said.

"Oh," he replied, "I intend to. But, little brother, you never mentioned that the ladies you work with are so beautiful!" He turned back to Jane Foster with a bright, charming smile and she blushed again, furiously.

Oh.

_OH._

I must have grimaced, because Darcy laughed and poked me in the shoulder. I jerked back and she held up her hands, laughing.

"Whoa," she said. "Easy there." She grinned at me. "Don't look like that. So what if Jane and your brother hit it off?"

So what indeed. So what if sweet, innocent Jane Foster hit it off with my mobster older brother?

"Thor? Did you need something?" I interrupted the two of them, pointedly raising an eyebrow at my brother.

"Oh, yeah," he said, not embarrassed at all. Giving Jane Foster a sheepish grin, turned to me and said, "I'm here to take you home."

"What? Thor I am perfectly capable of getting myself home. Dad doesn't need to send you to make sure I go straight home, do not pass go, do not collect –"

"Loki!" Thor half-shouted, looking like he wanted to laugh. Jane Foster was politely chuckling behind her hand. Darcy was just laughing. She snorted when she laughed. It was kind of cute.

"Loki, Dad didn't send me," Thor said. "I came on my own, because I know you hate taking the bus."

That shut me up for a minute, I'll admit. Meanwhile, both Darcy and Jane Foster were saying, "Awww, that's so sweet, Thor!" and I wanted to die.

"Alright, alright, let's go then," I said, quickly jumping off of my stool and cramming my things into my book bag.

"But your… thing, what was it?" Thor asked Jane Foster.

"A quantum field generator," she said. "It transfers –"

"Molecules, from one place to another," my brother finished, beaming at her. Jane Foster gaped at him. I'm sure I was doing the same.

"What?" he said, still grinning. "I have to Google physics things sometimes so that I will understand when Loki is talking."

And then they were all looking at me, but I was staring at Thor incredulously. I had no idea that Thor actually listened when I talked. None. I had always just assumed that when I started talking about science, Thor pretty much checked out of the conversation.

"That's…" I said. Luckily, he cut me off before I could do anything embarrassing, like smile at him sappily.

"So are you sure you want to leave your quantum field generator?"

"What? Oh, uh, no, it's finished," I stuttered out. "It'll need testing, but…"

He shrugged. "I'll wait." Smiling, he turned back to Jane Foster. "It will give me a chance to spend more time with your lovely lab partners."

Darcy and Jane Foster giggled. I scowled.

"Fine," I said. "You guys ready?" I asked the other astro-geeks.

"Ready!" Jane Foster said. We all snapped our goggles into place. Technically, we didn't need the goggles, but wearing them is pretty much a requirement for Proper Science. Thor and Darcy stood back as we crowed around the table and leaned over the quantum field generator. Jane Foster reached out and connected the cables that would energize the generator and it came to life with a hum. A glowing force field appeared in the chamber, particles of light manifesting before our eyes. I looked over my shoulder at Thor and Darcy, unable to resist flashing them both a satisfied smile. Thor looked genuinely pleased, but I could tell he was looking at Jane Foster, hair pulled into a high ponytail and goggles not even close to hiding the excitement in her eyes. I looked to Darcy.

Who was, as usual, staring right at me, with a strangely soft look on her face. I met her eyes boldly, for once, and instead of smirking at me, she just smiled widely, raising her hands up and clapping softly. Confused, I turned around again to stare at the quantum field generator. Physics was good. Physics was _normal_. Physics didn't stare at me and smile and look gorgeous in thick framed glasses and snort when she laughed…

Shaking my head sharply, I straightened up as Jane Foster disconnected the cables. The chamber went dark and Thor bounded over to us happily.

"That was magnificent!" he announced. "I had no idea it would be so beautiful!" Jane Foster was blushing again as Thor claimed her hand and earnestly told her how lovely her project was.

Darcy elbowed me in the ribs and raised her eyebrows at me. "Would it kill you to smile?" she stage-whispered.

"Yes," I replied, deadpan. She started, staring at me with her mouth open for a minute. I stared right back.

"Why, Loki d'Asgard," she said finally, "did you just make a joke?"

"I never joke about killing things," I told her. For some reason, that only made her smile more, which was definitely not my intention.

"Oh no, I'm onto you now," she said. "You have a sense of humor and now I have proof!" Darcy grinned at me like she'd won some kind of prize and I squinted at her, trying to understand this girl.

I considered again the possibility that she had a crush on me. And then I discarded that possibility for the second time. This was not how people act when they have crushes. She wasn't stuttering or blushing or losing her ability to speak properly or anything like that, which was my basic understanding of how crushes work, from personal experience. Clearly, she had some other reason for her interest in me.

I stopped squinting and rounded on Thor. "Okay, so we need to go," I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door.

"Wha –okay?" he said, sounding bemused. "Wait, hold on, Loki!" He pulled away from me and said to Jane Foster, "It was very nice to meet you. I hope I'll see you again sometime. Bye, Darcy!" he waved, and then allowed me to pull him out of the lab.

"What was that?" I demanded.

"What was what?" he asked, looking far too innocent.

"You know what," I hissed. "'Bye, Darcy'? Since when do you know Darcy?"

Thor gave me a careful look. "I just _met_ Darcy, little brother," he said slowly. "You were right there, remember?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You sounded very _friendly_ for having just met her," I accused.

"Jealous, little brother?" he teased. I threw up my hands.

"No! I'm just trying to figure out if you're conspiring with her against me!"

Thor burst out laughing.

We stood there, outside of the astro-physics laboratory, for nearly five minutes while Thor laughed and laughed and laughed.

He straightened up finally, after slapping his knee in hilarity, practically wiping his eyes free of tears of laughter. I was tapping my foot, arms crossed over my chest, aware that I was adopting Sif's favorite pose and doing it purposely.

"Are you finished?" I asked politely, at the same time as scornfully as I could.

"Yes," Thor said, trying to keep a straight face.

"Good," I said, turning on my heel and stalking down the sidewalk. "Then let's go."

"Aw, Loki!" he called out behind me, running to catch up. "I didn't mean to laugh at you, honest."

"And yet," I said pleasantly, trying to walk faster than him. It was useless; he was taller than me, with longer legs and no compunctions about running to keep up with me. I refused to jog to outpace him, so I resigned myself to walking side by side.

"I was only… I mean, seriously, Loki, did you hear yourself?"

"I said it, didn't I?" I said, looking both ways before crossing the street to where Thor had –illegally– parked his car.

"Loki," Thor said seriously, "I would never conspire against you."

"Well, that," I said, reaching his car and standing by the passenger side door, pointedly not looking at Thor, "is just blatantly untrue."

"Well," he said, "maybe a little. I would, for example, happily conspire against you in order to come pick you up from school. And to bring you home for Sunday dinner. And to surprise you for your birthday –I know," he said, holding up his hand before I could say anything, "you hate surprises, even for your birthday. But, Loki, I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that. Don't you?"

I thought about it for a moment, ignoring the hurt look on Thor's face. "Yes," I said finally. "I believe that you would never do anything to try to hurt me. But I'm not sure that you always know what is going to hurt me."

His lips tightened, obviously not liking this answer. Too bad, it was all I had.

"Let me in the car," I said, tugging on the handle. It was locked, of course. Mobsters know better than anyone how easy it is to steal a car. No reason to make it easier by leaving it unlocked, even in a "safe" place.

Still brooding, Thor fished out his keys and unlocked the doors. I slid into the front seat and sat facing forward, not looking at him, even after he climbed in and started the engine. He drove us to my building in silence, and when I got out and went right up to my apartment, he didn't follow.

I told myself I wanted it that way, and went to struggle through my math homework.

000

The Ravens appeared again on Saturday, and they stayed with me until Sunday evening, at which point they accompanied me, from a distance, to Yggdrasil for the promised Sunday dinner.

My mother hugged me and kissed both of my cheeks and exclaimed over how thin I was (which, living away from home, I must inevitably be, never mind that I am also tall and that I am by no means underweight) as though nothing had happened the last time I was here. I endured this and even managed a smile for her, even though I was hyper-aware of Odin standing only a few feet away, glowering at me.

I met his eyes with more bravado than I actually was feeling and was gratified to see his gaze soften a little bit. Hmm. I must have looked more pathetic than I'd thought. I tried a scowl, but I think I still looked thoughtful, because my father just looked slightly amused.

"Loki," he rumbled.

"Dad," I muttered, ducking past him into the kitchen, where Thor was already seated at the table. He grinned at me when he looked up.

"Brother!" he exclaimed, as happy as if we hadn't seen each other for a month. "We are having roast," he informed me.

Honestly, I don't understand my family sometimes. The way they pretend at being normal and well-adjusted, when really half of them are mobsters and we're all a little dysfunctional, baffles me. I mean, why pretend? We all know what the secret in the room is, there's no need to just act like we're a normal family. Any second now, one of the Uncles was going to come in and apologize for interrupting, and then ask Dad a question about some mob business, and Mom was going to pretend that she wasn't hearing it and Thor was going to just keep eating like Dad wasn't discussing Business at the dinner table. And Business could include anything from collecting an overdue loan (with interest –probably in the form of some sort of bodily harm) to smuggling.

Sure enough, immediately after we'd sat down, Uncle Heimdall came in and apologized to my mother.

"Sorry, Frigga, but I've got a question for the Boss," he said. Mom waved her hand at him like a queen granting her subject an audience.

(Come to think of it, that's exactly what she was.)

"Boss," Heimdall said, "I need to know what you want me to do with the goombas we caught near the hot zone." For some reason, his eyes darted over to me when he said this.

Dad thought about it for a moment. "Have they said anything?" he asked.

"Nothing," Heimdall shook his head. "Nothing we didn't already know at least. They said that some guy hired them to break into the apartment–" he glanced at me and Thor, broke off, and then rolled his eyes, "you know. And then it was the usual: they don't know who it was, it was all over payphone, they never saw him, they got half the money on site, and the other half was gonna be waiting for them when the job was done." He looked disgruntled.

"Hmm," Odin said, tapping his fingers on the table. "Have you tried persuading them to think harder?"

"Oh my god, Dad, it's torture, not persuasion. He means have you tried torturing them yet."

They all looked at me.

Oh. I'd said that out loud.

What can I say, Tony? Sometimes even I get tired of the euphemisms.

"Do you have something to contribute here, Loki," my father said, in a tone of voice that implied it really wasn't a question.

I shook my head, hunching my shoulders and staring down at my plate. Odin and Heimdall went back to their conversation, but not before my father aimed a heated, quelling glare at the top of my head, so hard I could feel it.

"Are you sure they don't know anything?" he asked. Uncle Heimdall shrugged.

"Well, like you said, I haven't tried torture yet." I looked up, surprised at the jab. Heimdall was almost never on my side. For him to take a dig like that, even subtly, meant that he disapproved about something my father was doing with this job.

Dad didn't miss it either, but instead of getting angry, he just snorted. "But?" he prodded.

"But," Heimdall finished, "I really don't think they know anything. They seemed very… sincere," he offered with a sharp smile. I was inclined to believe him. Heimdall was very good at being intimidating. He'd turned that smile on me before, when I had been out all night or off doing something I shouldn't have been (which, in my family, was a short list, but one I exploited religiously). I would tell him what he wanted to know. Usually.

Most of the time.

Okay, so I tried to lie to him more often than not, and more often than not, I got away with it too. I'm just that good. But there were a few times when even my silver tongue couldn't hold up under Uncle Heimdall's watchful eyes and casually threatening grin.

"Alright then," my father said, nodding decisively. "Then kill them and send them to His Majesty in pieces." And with that, he went back to his potatoes, ignoring the way the rest of us at the table were now staring at him.

"It shall be done," Heimdall assured him, not sounding at all disapproving about this particular development, and shooting me another strangely fierce look before nodding to my mom and leaving the kitchen.

"What the –"

"Eat your dinner, Thor," my father said without looking up from his plate. Mom said nothing, her face completely serene as she cut her roast into bite-sized pieces and took a sip of her wine.

"Um," I said.

"You, too, Loki," Odin said, pointing his fork at me with an almost playful smile. "Finish your food."

"You just ordered Uncle Heimdall to kill someone," I said, as if he hadn't been there. The smile he gave me was extremely pointed.

"Yes," he said pleasantly. "I thought you would appreciate the plain speaking for once."

"Odin," my mother said sharply.

"I'm only trying to accommodate Loki's preferences," my father said.

"If you are going to be deliberately antagonistic towards your son," she said, "then you can remove yourself from the table." She set down her silverware and turned in her seat to stare directly at Odin. "Is that clear?"

Beside me, Thor was holding his breath. I was looking back and forth between my parents. My eyes were so wide, I probably looked like Bambi.

"Shall I apologize then?" my father asked finally. Oddly, he actually sounded slightly sorry.

"That won't be necessary," Mom said calmly. "Just settle down and be civil." She returned to her food as though she hadn't just stared down Odin d'Asgard and took a bite of potatoes. "Eat, boys," she said to me and Thor. "It'll get cold."

We glanced at each other and then picked up our forks and ate.

That was Sunday dinner at Yggdrasil. Fun, right?

Not.

And then my week got worse.

Yes, Tony, worse than that.

It started with Family following me around. Yes, that's Family, with a capital F and all. Dad wasn't being subtle at all. Uncle Tyr tried to reason with me.

"Loki," he said, "it's for your safety. Your father is just trying to make sure you're safe."

"Go away," I told him.

He didn't, but I steeled myself and hailed a taxi, and so managed to lose him in rush hour traffic.

And then there was Uncle Baldur. When he appeared outside of my physics class on Tuesday morning, I actually snarled at him.

"Don't be like that," he told me.

"Why," I asked the air, "does everyone always say that to me?"

"Maybe because you're always so uptight," he said back, easily, hands in his pockets and falling in step beside me like he wasn't my bodyguard for the day.

"I am _not _uptight," I gritted out, sounding, admittedly, extremely uptight.

"Sure," Baldur shrugged. "Whatever you say. I'm not leaving, either way. And don't think you're gonna lose me in a crowd the way you did Tyr yesterday." He gave me a stern look. I ignored him as I went on to Professor Stewart's class.

I was pretty much over Shakespeare at this point, but I guess that was my own fault for signing up for a class called _Shakespeare and the Soul_.

Tony, stop laughing.

I canceled my magic show at the Center, mostly because I wasn't sure how to explain the presence of Uncle Baldur. Truthfully, I was under no illusions that the kids wouldn't love him. Baldur was funny like that. Everybody loves him. It's freaking weird, because I've literally seen him break someone's hand, and yet, I kind of like him, too. Ororo was very understanding of my "family troubles," and requested that I pass on her best wishes to my father and the rest of the d'Asgards.

Ignoring the slightly strange wording of her request, I told her I would give them the message, and then I neatly hung up and told Baldur to let the rest of the Family know where they could all take themselves.

Uncle Bragi thought he'd be clever and bring Aunt Idunn along with him, which was not only sneaky and unsportsmanlike, but completely unfair.

In spite of myself, I approved. Figured that Uncle Bragi would be the only one of them to act like a proper mobster.

That is, if you believe that proper mobsters have hippie, herbalist, sweet-tempered flower-children for wives. Aunt Idunn actually managed to coax me out to lunch with them that Wednesday.

It's really hard to say no to Aunt Idunn.

The Ravens were there to escort me to therapy on Thursday, and then on Friday they followed me around constantly. I spent Saturday in my apartment, desperate for some personal space and time alone, only to be invaded at around noon by my brother, Sif, and the Warriors Three.

"Ugh," I groaned, falling backwards over the arm of my couch, legs kicking up in the air, staring at the ceiling with my eyes as dead as I could make them. "Why. Why can't I ever get _away_ from you people?"

"Now, Loki," Fandral said cheerfully, sitting down next to my head, "is that anyway to greet your nearest and dearest friends?"

"You," I began, only to be cut off by Volstagg, who crouched down next to me.

"Loki," he said earnestly, "we miss you."

"Maybe," I offered, "you just miss my apartment."

"That too," Sif agreed, dropping down into the only armchair, "but also we miss your stunning personality."

"Well that can't be true," I said dryly.

"See?" she laughed. "It's this sort of wit that keeps us coming back. Thor," she said to my brother, who was hovering anxiously in the doorway, "get me some soda."

"I don't have soda," I said to the ceiling.

"You do now," Hogun replied, sitting down cross-legged on the floor next to Fandral's knees with one of the said sodas in hand. "We got the kind you like," he offered.

I paused.

"Ginger ale?"

"I don't know how you can stand to drink it," Thor said, coming back into the room from the kitchen and handing me a can, "but here it is." He handed Sif a root beer and settled back next to Hogun with an actual beer.

"Fine," I said, sitting up, "but don't think that this means I like you all or anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Fandral replied, clinking his soda can into mine solemnly. Volstagg came up with the TV remote from somewhere and turned on the set. Expertly, he queued up Netflix and we watched _Merlin _for the rest of the day.

(Okay, so Saturday didn't totally suck.)

Sunday dinner came around again, and I sat through the frostiest, most awkward dinner ever. My father and I didn't speak to each other at all, and Mom and Thor carried the conversation with forced cheerfulness. To make matters worse, various Family members kept wandering in and out, apparently for no other reason than to make sure we hadn't killed each other, because as soon as they stuck their heads in the door, they were gone again. Odin finished his food and pushed his chair away from the table, stomping off to his office without saying a word. I let out a sigh of relief and instantly felt guilty when my mom gave me a disappointed frown.

After that, Monday was actually a relief. Even if it did come with Ravens and _Advanced Mathematical Reasoning._

"Loki," Professor Banner said, folding his hands on his desk, "I'm not sure what the problem is."

I shrugged. _The problem, _I thought spitefully, _is that I'm here, listening to you talk at me after hours, instead of going home and doing my homework._

"I just want to help," he said.

"Can you drop my last quiz grade?" I asked hopefully. Startled, he actually chuckled.

"Actually," Professor Banner said, "yes, I can. It's your lowest, so it's definitely getting dropped. But, Loki," he said, taking off his glasses and giving me a very earnest look. "You really do need to get your grade up. Finals are coming up in just a couple of weeks. Do you think tutoring might help?"

I bit my lip, mostly to hold back my opinions of his stupid class and stupid tutoring. Yes, please remind me about finals. That's _so _what I need right now. "I think I've just been a bit stressed," I said. "I mean, I don't usually do _this _badly, do I?" I gestured towards the glaring red F gracing my quiz.

"No," Professor Banner allowed, "that you don't." He stared at me frankly, meeting my eyes with no hesitation. "Alright," he said. "I'll believe the stress story. But –" he pointed at me with the earpiece of his glasses, "if that's so, then you seriously need to relax, kiddo. Going from a B average to completely failing a quiz isn't something that just happens over night. I'd say 'a bit stressed' is probably understating it." He looked very concerned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I almost laughed. "Um. No. Thank you. Uh. Actually, I have a therapist." I said it awkwardly, trying not to blush. It was stupid, because it's not something I'm usually embarrassed about, but for some reason, saying it to my college professor was daunting.

"Hey," Professor Banner grinned, spreading his hands, "good for you. Trust me when I say that I know stress, and if you've got someone to help you work through it, then absolutely good for you."

"Uh, yeah."

That sounded really stilted, but let's be honest here, Tony: you weren't actually all that much help back then. I mean sure, I'd rant and rave to you for an hour, talking about how awful my life was becoming, but you never really said much beyond, "Uh-huh, okay. Now, how does that make you feel?" Like, seriously. Did you get your diploma out of a cereal box?

Okay, that was mean.

Okay, but I don't actually care.

Okay, so I care a little bit.

Snapdragons.

Sorry, Tony, I guess, for implying that you're a crappy therapist. You've actually really improved a lot since we started.

I mean, I'm not sure that _I've _improved, but you definitely have, so that's something.

Anyway.

The week from hell was over, mostly, and a new one began. Thankfully, my father had apparently decided to tone it down somewhat, because my only stalkers were the Ravens, who were fairly easy to ignore if you were used to them. Which I was.

But then the one day (it was that Thursday, actually) that Hugin and Munin _weren't _following me, I was all alone, on a bus (ugh). And I could feel the eyes.

I glanced across the aisle to the passenger across from me, only to find a mother with two kids who looked like she was about ready to be done with this day. Probably not her. I glanced up and backwards and found a man on his phone, two teenage girls who were arguing over something, and another man who was blatantly ignoring the No Smoking sign. Not any of them either.

But _someone _was staring at me. Malevolently. I shuddered, full-body. I could feel myself begin to breathe faster, adrenaline rushing through me.

Time to get off this bus. I reached up and pulled the rope and the bus stuttered to a stop. Quickly, I grabbed my things and leaped off onto the curb, tossing a handful of change at the driver. No one got off with me. I stood on the sidewalk for a minute, breathing heavily and trying not to have a panic attack.

"Is the point of this," I asked myself out loud, "to drive me insane? Because if so, _it's working_." I probably sounded hysterical. I didn't care. I was so done with this stalking crap.

I'd gotten off in the middle of the city. I'd actually barely made it two blocks from the campus. My apartment was fifteen minutes away, walking. I could make it easily. Had done it, many times before. Even while being followed by invisible beings who stared at me in a vaguely threatening manner.

While I was unarmed.

And alone.

Gritting my teeth for the inevitable discomfort, I put my fingers between my teeth and whistled for a taxi.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was written mostly while listening to "Tell Me I'm a Wreck" by Every Avenue, and "Kiss Me in the Morning" by Stereo Skyline. Yes. Just those two. On repeat.**

**Still playing Spot the Marvel Cameo, though I suppose this one is stretching a wee bit…**

**Additional, No-Longer-A-Spoiler Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Bambi**_**. Or Netflix. Or **_**Merlin**_**.**

**Next Chapter: ****Loki doesn't like Darcy, and other lies he tells the world.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: ****"This usually works…" –Loki, **_**Avengers**_

**A/N: I have been writing this fic since 2013 what even is my life. (Or my writing process?)**

**If it isn't obvious by now, this is really a fic about coffee. **

* * *

**Chapter 11:** **Selv om de kunne være**

Alternatively titled: In which Darcy won't take no for an answer.

* * *

The weekend passed.

Ugh.

Sunday dinner passed.

Cringe.

Monday passed with a reminder that our _Advanced Mathematical Reasoning_ final was on Friday.

Kill me.

Tuesday passed with a visit to the Center. Natasha told me proudly that she had taught the kitten Loki how to climb on top of the bookshelf using the curtains. Jean and Scott had informed everyone that they were boyfriend and girlfriend now and were holding hands to prove it. Remy tried to hold Anna-Marie's hand with the same idea and got punched in the arm for his trouble. Ororo was especially exasperated because I wore my dramatic cloak and staff costume, and it always causes a scene.

Tuesday was a good day.

000

Wednesdays are evil. Whoever invented Wednesdays should be taken out and shot.

It wasn't enough that I had to worry about my family and the Family and being stalked and failing my math final, but I also had to deal with all of that on the one day of the week that the campus coffee shop isn't open?

I hated everything.

"You," Darcy Lewis said as she caught up with me outside the astro-physics lab, "look exhausted."

I wanted to say something snarky, but seeing as how I was, in fact, exhausted, that seemed like a useless waste of time and energy. Instead, I hoped the baleful look I gave her would act as a deterrent from further conversation.

It didn't.

"Wow," she said, cheerfully falling into step beside me, "someone woke up on the cranky side of bed this morning."

"Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Not at the moment," Darcy said cheerfully. "My classes are finished for the day –and so are yours for that matter, so come on, I'll buy you a coffee."

I blinked, trying to sort out the sudden stream of words she had just spewed at me. _How does she know that I'm finished?_

"What?" I said.

"You. Me. Coffee," she said patiently. "My treat."

I stared at her suspiciously, trying to find the catch. "Why?" I asked.

"Because," Darcy answered, sounding as though she tried to convince anti-social people to have coffee with her every day (which, to be honest, is entirely plausible), "I'd like to get to know you better."

I almost said that I thought she knew me pretty well from all the stalking that she did but I bit my tongue just in time.

Thor's words were echoing in my head.

"_No, no, it'll be great! You ask her out, and if she's really interested in you, she'll say yes, and then you'll go on your date and one of two things will happen. One, you'll discover that you actually really like her, in which case everything will be perfect because you will already know she likes you back." He smirked at me. "Or, two, she'll decide that she actually doesn't like _you_ and then she'll leave you alone. It's a win/win for you!"_

I bit my lip.

"The coffee shop is closed," I tried halfheartedly. Darcy put her hands on her hips.

"Oh, come _on_, Loki," she said, tossing her head. "Like the campus shop is the only coffee shop around."

It was a weak excuse. I'd known it when I gave it.

What did I have to lose here?

A stalker, for one.

"Okay," I said, not giving myself anymore time to back out of it. "Yeah, alright. Coffee."

Because, after all: coffee.

"Great!" Darcy's face lit up and I was momentarily nonplussed by the sight. Had I done that? Was she smiling so widely because I'd agreed to get coffee with her? The only person who had ever looked so happy to spend time with me was my brother, and that was because, you'll remember, Thor was basically the human version of a golden retriever.

"Come on," Darcy said, shaking me out of my thoughts. "I know a great little place."

She did, in fact, know a great little place. It was called The Base, which sounded ominous but turned out to be pleasantly quiet and airy. There were books and little music stands everywhere, and the tables were spaced far enough apart for me to be comfortable. Without asking, Darcy chose a table next to a wall and dumped her bags in the chair facing the wall, leaving me with the seat that faced the door and gave me a clear view of the entire room. Whether she did this on purpose or not, I didn't know, but I was grateful for it, all the same. I put my bag on the chair and followed her up to the counter.

"I'll have a large, double shot, Irish Cream latte with whipped cream and chocolate on top," Darcy was saying as I arrived at the counter. The kid behind the counter looked dazed. Possibly by the coffee order, or possibly by Darcy herself. She had that effect on people, like a bouncing ray of sunshine that invaded the space of everyone around her. She had an optimistic cheerfulness that made people feel good.

Not me, obviously, but like, people.

Definitely not me.

"S-sure," stammered the kid, whose name tag declared him to be _Miles _and _happy to serve_.

"And he'll have a –"

"Iced coffee," I said quickly. "Espresso. Black."

Darcy grimaced. "Ewww," she said. "You're drinking iced coffee _black_?"

Ignoring her, I added, "Make it a triple shot." Turning to Darcy, I said, "I like espresso."

Her eyes were wide. "I can see that." She gave me a wary look. "How much coffee have you had today already? I don't want to you overdose."

I looked down my nose at her. "Please, peasant. Coffee flows through my veins. Overdose is impossible."

Darcy laughed out loud. I blushed, startled at my own words. "Okay, then, your majesty! No, no," she added when I reached into my pocket for my wallet. "I'm buying, remember?" She handed over the money and our drinks appeared on the counter. Miles glanced back and forth between the two of us, looking slightly as though he wished we hadn't come into his coffee shop. Darcy gave him a kind smile.

I bared my teeth at him, which for me is basically the same thing. He scurried back to the other end of the counter to help a pair of new customers, and I reached over the counter and picked up the bottle of English Toffee syrup. Prying the lid off of my iced coffee, I started pouring the syrup over the ice, stirring with my straw. I looked up defiantly and met Darcy's eyes.

She was staring at me, of course, but she had a weird look on her face that I couldn't really understand. She looked completely nonplussed, and yet strangely soft as well. It was a gentle look, her eyes were lit up and she looked as though she were fighting back a smile.

"What?" I said, dropping the syrup back on its proper side. "It's not stealing or anything." Well, maybe a little.

"I know," she said, sounding almost… fond? What? "But I've just… never met anyone like you before."

"You've met me before," I pointed out inanely. I wanted to smack myself in the forehead. Where was my silver tongue when I needed it? I could spin a story to the police at the drop of a hat, lie like a rug when it came to getting out of trouble with my parents, and smooth my way over any number of bumps and roadblocks that come with being in the Family, but talking to one girl, I turned into a complete idiot. It was ridiculous.

Darcy laughed again. Miles was glaring at me from the other side of the counter. I wasn't sure if it was because of Darcy or because I had lifted the syrup. I raised my cup to him either way and followed Darcy back to our table.

"Now," Darcy said as we settled in, unceremoniously dumping her backpack on the floor next to her, "let's get to know one another."

I must have grimaced, because she grinned. "Aw, c'mon," she coaxed. "It's not torture, it's just talking. You're good at talking, this should be fun!"

I glowered at her and sipped my coffee, pointedly not saying anything.

"Fine then," she continued, undeterred. "I'll start." She flipped her hair over her shoulder and took a drink of her latte. "I'm a political-science major, I love chocolate and puppies, I have a taser, my best friend is Jane, I –"

"I know all of that," I interrupted. She quirked an eyebrow.

"It speaks!"

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever." Not my best comeback, but a far cry from the blathering of before. Darcy grinned.

"So," she said, leaning forward on her elbows and staring at me with big blue eyes that seemed at once piercing and soulful, "tell me about yourself."

I gave her my best _Are You Kidding Me?_ look. She smiled at me encouragingly. I scowled as menacingly as I knew how. She beamed.

I succumbed to the inevitable and gave up a piece of precious personal information. "I like to make things explode."

Her eyes widened and I cursed inwardly. That was too much, too weird. I could have said I liked chemistry and that would have been sufficient, why had I said I liked to make things explode? Now she was going to think I was insane. Which, yeah, okay, but like, normally I'm more the paranoid kind of crazy, not the blow-stuff-up kind of crazy.

"Loki, I know that already," Darcy's voice cut into my whirlwind thoughts, teasingly impatient. "You're in the lab practically every day trying to blow something up. Tell me something I don't already know."

I threw up my hands dramatically and exclaimed, "Well, how am I supposed to know what you already know?"

She leaned in even further and said earnestly, "Tell me a _secret_."

I paused, head suddenly spinning with a hundred secrets I would not, could not possibly tell her, ever. Just thinking about how I couldn't say a word made me want to blurt them all out at once. _This_, this was the problem with making friends outside the Family. Everything was euphemisms or Daddy was going to jail.

How do you tell a girl, hey, my dad is a mob boss, so we're probably being watched by his henchmen right this second, but don't worry, it's cool, they're just my bodyguards.

"Ummm," I said intelligently.

Darcy giggled. "I've never seen you at a loss for words," she said, as though fascinated by my sudden drop from genius to caveman. I scowled at her.

"I kick puppies," I lied, just to see her face screw up in disgust. It did, but obviously more at the thought that someone would ever do such a thing than that she actually believed me, because she reached out and shoved at my arm the next moment.

"Loki! What an awful thing to say. And I don't believe it, so tell me something real."

I had no idea why, but the next words out of my mouth were, "I do magic shows for the kids at the play center down on Westchester Street."

Darcy's eyes lit up. "Oh!" she squealed, actually clasping her hands together. "That's so awesome! You're a magician? What kind of magic can you do? Is it like, street magic, or are you one of those 'serious' guys who only does magic with props and a real audience?"

I snorted. "I do magic for kids. They don't care about props. I get exactly the same reaction for making someone disappear as I do for pulling a coin from behind their ears." I looked up at her through my eyelashes and found her looking genuinely interested. My lips quirked in a smile and I said, "I tend to include some pyrotechnics when I can get away with it. Ororo –she runs the Center– doesn't like it when I play with fire in front of the kids, too much. She thinks it's setting a bad example."

"Isn't it?" Darcy asked innocently. I rolled my eyes.

"You don't know these kids. Trust me, playing with fire is the least of what they're capable of. In fact, I'm pretty sure at least one or two of them are budding arsonists already, so I hardly think I can make it worse. What?" I asked.

Darcy was smiling at me, beaming really, blue eyes bright with delight and… fondness? I felt my head reel, suddenly dizzy with the rush of knowing.

_She _does _have a crush on me._

Maybe more than a crush.

Now, what should I do with this knowledge? I could let her know that I knew. I could pretend I didn't see it. I could tell her I wasn't interested.

I stood up abruptly. "Come on," I said, picking up my coffee and slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Let's go for a walk."

000

"I can't believe you've never seen _The Usual Suspects_! It's a cult classic!"

"I don't watch a lot of movies," I said awkwardly, oddly hoping that this wasn't going to be a deal-breaker.

She huffed. "Well, we're going to have to do something about that." She was smiling when she said it and my heart sort of thrummed stupidly.

What was I doing? I had no idea what I was doing, I only knew that I _liked _this. I liked this feeling of knowing that someone saw me as more than a basket-case screw-up who rebelled against his family and barely scraped by doing magic shows for kids' birthday parties.

Of course, she didn't know about the family bit, but one crisis at a time.

We walked without talking for a while, awkwardly, and then, out of the blue, Darcy said, "So, I mean, Phil Coulson, right?"

Automatically I responded, "I _know_!" and just like that, we were off.

"It's not that I don't like Phil, don't get me wrong," Darcy continued. "It's just that… he's so…"

"Cheerful?" I offered. "Obnoxious? Goody-goody?"

She mock-glared at me. "He's not goody-goody! He just… follows rules."

I snorted. "Fine. He's still obnoxious."

"Takes one to know one," she snarked at me.

I bared my teeth at her and instead of flinching away she bared hers right back. I felt my sneer soften and turn into something more like a smile.

We talked about her job ("I'm a waitress in some hole-in-the-wall joint near campus."), about her new kitten ("Even you would think she's cute, Loki. Her name is Ronnie."), Jane Foster ("We've been best friends for three years now. We met in high school and decided to get an apartment together for college."), and, to my disgust, my brother and Jane Foster.

"They're totally into each other," Darcy informed me. I grimaced.

"Please don't say that."

"Totally," she hummed. "They're gonna start dating, I know it."

"You don't know my brother."

"No, but I do know Jane. I know exactly what her face looks like when she sees a guy she likes, and she was definitely wearing the Face when Thor came into the lab the other day."

"Please stop talking."

She laughed. "Fine! Let's talk about you then! Any girls caught your eye?" She watched me carefully, still smiling with a hint of tease, but slightly anxious too, eager for my answer.

I shrugged with one shoulder and offered her my most sincere sheepish smile. "I don't know yet," I told her, honestly. "There's… maybe."

Instead of looking disheartened, Darcy nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, then," was all she said.

I'd made things awkward, and I could have kicked myself. We walked in silence once more, wandering around the downtown area, passing delis and bars and nightclubs that wouldn't open for another three hours at least. Darcy was quiet beside me, breathing gently and swinging her free hand in between us. Her other hand was wrapped around the strap of her backpack. I could hear the click of her boot heels on the sidewalk and felt like each _click _was resonating in my head. She was beautiful, playful, carefree, and I couldn't imagine what she saw in me. I was about two wrong glances from falling apart at the seams on any given day and she _liked_ me?

I mean, Tony, don't go all psychoanalysis on that. I don't have low self-esteem. I know that I'm reasonably attractive (though I'm no god-like Thor, that's for sure) and more or less charming when I try to be. On the surface, there are plenty of reasons why someone might be attracted to me.

But I'm also surly and irritable and constantly looking over my shoulder as though I'm afraid monsters are going to spring out of every shadow. I once tried to stab somebody with a plastic fork because he sat down too close to me. I am, frankly, a mess.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and happened to glance at me.

Realizing suddenly that I was staring –had been staring for nearly ten minutes, I jerked my eyes away and looked straight ahead. She chuckled lightly, but before I could ask what was so funny, she was tripping, hands flying out in front of her to slow her fall. I didn't think before I was lunging forward, grabbing her by the wrist and hauling back as hard as I could.

"Whoa!" Darcy said breathlessly, half-laughing. "Thanks for that!"

I frowned. "Are you alright?" I glared suspiciously at her shoes. "What happened?"

She waved her hand in the air. "Oh, I don't even know. Tripped over nothing, I guess, it happens a lot to me." She gave a careless shrug. "Not a big deal."

"If you're sure," I said hesitantly. Darcy laughed.

"Oh, come on, you," she said. We started walking again and it wasn't until we'd gone nearly an entire street over that I realized she hadn't let go of my hand.

* * *

**A/N: I'm in college. I'm a college student writing a college AU. Actually, never mind, this is a college AU/mob AU/coffee shop AU with the way things are going currently.**

**Additional, No-Longer-A-Spoiler Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Usual Suspects**_**. Also I have not s**_**een The Usual Suspects**_**.**

**My tumblr: indigo- night- wisp. tumblr. com**

**Next Chapter: ****Mobsters can do magic too. Their favorite trick? Now you see him, now you don't.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: "Thor, stop and think. Look around you, we're outnumbered..." –Loki, Thor**

**A/N: Thanks to reviewers!**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Jeg antar**

Alternatively titled: In which Loki's neuroses become a major plot point.

* * *

Tony, have you ever just looked at someone, maybe someone you've known for a while, and suddenly thought, I've been looking for you my whole life?

Me neither.

I didn't have any such burst of sappy realization. No, the utter brilliance that ran through my mind when I looked over at Darcy was Oh.

Oh.

She was still holding my hand.

"Ask me a question," she said, suddenly, swinging our hands together.

"What?"

"Anything," she offered brazenly, far more brave than I, who couldn't ever imagine giving up my privacy like that, as if it were a coat to put on and off whenever it was needed.

I thought for a moment, silently. Ask her anything. What would I ask her? What did I want to know? What did I not already know? Well, there was always:

"Why do you watch me?"

"Watch you?" she sounded confused. Go big or go home, Loki.

"Stare at me," I clarified, trying to sound nonchalant and unbothered. We walked in silence for another few feet.

"Noticed that, did you?" Darcy finally said.

I snickered. "Hard not to. You aren't exactly subtle." She blushed and I felt my wicked grin growing. Let her be embarrassed and blushing for once. I enjoyed watching her squirm.

"Sorry," she said finally, derailing my enjoyment. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, it's just…" she trailed off, still blushing.

"What?" I asked, suddenly very curious to know the answer to this question that had plagued me ever since I had met Darcy Lewis.

She shrugged, straightening up suddenly, almost defiantly. "I just really like looking at you, okay?"

Well, that hadn't been what I was expecting. And now I was the one blushing again, cheeks flushing brightly against my usually pale skin. Darcy grinned at me, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"Shut up," I muttered eventually. Darcy laughed in delight. The tables had turned. Again.

"But I just can't help myself!" she said. "You're just so –" she stopped abruptly, staring at me with less teasing and more softness than I'd expected.

"So what?" I asked. I was not anxious, I told myself.

"So Loki," Darcy sighed. I wrinkled my nose. So Loki? And what was so great about that? I was awkward and angry and neurotic. Why would she…?

My face must have given away my thoughts because Darcy stopped walking, tugging on my hand when I nearly kept going.

"I like to look at you," she said again. "I like your face." I smirked at that and Darcy smirked back, clearly amused by her own wording. "I just… I just like you," she said. "Isn't that a good enough reason?"

I started to nod, slowly, and we kept walking. "You know," I said after a minute, "I like your face, too."

Darcy smiled, not really looking at me, but just still smiling at me. "I know," she said.

I opened my mouth to protest this apparent opinion on my ability to deceive, because I knew I hadn't given any indication of the sort, but she cut me off easily, as if knowing what I was about to say.

"Come on," Darcy grinned at me. "Let's walk back to campus. I'll get my car and give you a lift home."

"You don't have to do that," I protested half-heartedly. "I can take the bus."

Darcy stopped and gave me a look. "Loki," she laughed, "you hate the bus."

000

They grabbed us right as we were walking past the bus stop, which is almost too ironic to be real.

A big black car (of course, what other kind of car would it be?) pulled up right next to us, illegally taking the bus's place. I stopped, cold apprehension creeping up my spine. Darcy stopped with me as my grip on her hand tightened.

"Loki?" she said, concerned. Probably because I was hyperventilating.

"We need to go," I managed to gasp out, looking over my shoulder and scanning for an escape route. The men in the car weren't moving. What were they waiting for?

Maybe they weren't my stalkers. They might even be my father's people. I'd have given anything for the Ravens or one of the Uncles to stick their head out of a window and say, "Hey, kiddo, need a lift?" like they'd done hundreds of times before, smiling wide, wicked smiles.

"Loki, what's wrong?" Darcy's hands were on my shoulders now, trying to calm me down. I stared at her, feeling my heart pounding, flashing back to three years ago when I had been kidnapped for the first time outside of my school.

"We need to go," I insisted.

"But why?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"The car," I said, gesturing. She looked.

"It's just a car, Loki," she soothed.

I could hear what she wasn't saying. It was the same thing everyone said.

_You're just imagining it. You're too high-strung. You're just paranoid._

But I wasn't. I wasn't, because it's not paranoia when everyone really is out to get you.

I glared at Darcy. "Let's go." I yanked on her hand.

"Alright –"

We'd waited too long. They were out of the car and grabbing us before I could do more than reach for my knife. It was promptly knocked out of my hand by the butt of a gun. I yelped in pain as the metal smashed into my fingers. Darcy was screeching, biting, and slapping, trying to get a hand free to grab her taser. The goomba holding her found it first and smashed it on the concrete sidewalk with a growl. Darcy spat at him and got a backhand across the face for her trouble. She went limp and I snarled, kicking my feet and wiggling like a fish. The goomba in charge of me wrapped his burly arms completely around me, pinning my arms to my sides and lifting my feet clear of the ground.

"Grab his feet!" he grunted. There were five of them. Two of them had Darcy. The other two came and grabbed for my feet while mine crushed me to his chest. I kicked one of them in the face and he responded by pistol-whipping me across the face.

And…

And that's pretty much all I remember about that part.

000

I woke up when someone literally dropped me onto a hard floor, face first.

I could go on about how much my head hurt and every bone in my body felt like I'd been, well, kidnapped and stuck in the trunk of a car, basically, which is most likely what had happened. But I don't need to go on about that, because that's not really the point.

The point is that I'd been kidnapped. Again.

Where was Darcy? What had happened? Why couldn't I see?

Oh, right, there was a blindfold over my eyes. That was a relief. I thought for a minute I'd gone blind.

I know that was an irrational fear, Tony, okay, sometimes it just happens. I can't help it.

Anyway, I slowly planted my hands on the floor next to my head and pushed, painfully raising my body. I got one knee underneath me and managed to roll over to a mostly upright position. I reached for the blindfold and felt a hand close over mine.

"Don't," a deep rumbling voice came from behind me. I stiffened.

"Oh, no, don't worry about it, Helblindi. There wouldn't be much of a point to this if he didn't know who we were, would there?"

The guy grunted and let go of my hand. Slowly, I reached again and tugged on the blindfold. It came loose easily enough and I kept my eyes closed as it fell away from my face, knowing from experience that I'd be blinded if I opened them right away. After a moment, I cracked one eye, staring down at my knee. For some reason I noticed that my jeans had a tear in the knees. I don't know why it surprised me. I'd just been kidnapped. I was lucky I was still wearing my jeans.

Raising my eyes the slightest bit, my gaze caught on a crumpled bit of fabric. I turned my head a bit and there was Darcy, unconscious and lying on her side. She was blindfolded.

"Darcy," I croaked. My voice was rough.

"Ah, yes, your friend. Pity about her. But we did try to wait. You just wouldn't separate. There was only so long we could put off taking you, and since she clearly wasn't about to leave you alone…"

The voice trailed off suggestively, somehow sounding genuinely sorry to have kidnapped Darcy. I licked my lips.

"Then let her go," I tried. "You wanted me, you've got me. Let her go."

"Can't do that," the voice said cheerfully. "At the risk of sounding like a clichéd movie villain, she's seen too much." The voice lowered. "Now. Look at me."

I forced my eyes away from Darcy and looked up and up and up.

Laufey Jotunr stared down at me with a chillingly pleasant smile. He seemed to be pausing for effect.

I couldn't help myself.

"You're right about one thing," I said, pulling my leg around so that I was sitting cross-legged instead of sprawling on the floor. I felt much less vulnerable.

"And what's that?" Laufey was watching me like I was amusing.

"You do sound like a clichéd movie villain," I smirked. If I was hoping to make him stop smiling, it didn't work. If anything, Laufey smiled wider at my cheek.

"Oh, Loki, little Loki," he practically purred, suddenly stooping down and looking me in the eyes. "We're going to have fun before we call your father, aren't we?"

Oh right. I'd almost forgotten there was actually a reason for this whole thing.

"You really think that kidnapping me is going to get to my dad?" I asked, trying to sound skeptical. Laufey didn't buy it.

"Yes," he said simply. "That's exactly what I think." He crouched fully and reached out to put a hand on the top of my head in a mockery of my father's usual method of touching me. Revolted, I tried to pull away, only for Laufey to clench his fist into my hair. He smiled at me, speaking gently and almost playfully.

"You see, I watch, Loki. I know your father, quite well if I do say so myself. We've been rivals for longer than you've been alive. I know exactly how your father responds to threats against his family. I'm counting on it."

I snorted in spite of myself. "You haven't been watching closely enough then," I said bitterly. "Odin and I have had a falling out. He won't be coming."

Laufey looked genuinely surprised. "Now that, I can't believe. You may be upset with him, but Odin d'Asgard would never leave his son in my hands without a fight."

I stared him right in the eye and spat out, "He already has!"

Laufey's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Where were they, if he cares so much about me? If he didn't want to give me up without a fight, then where were they? They're always there, even when I don't want them, but the one time I actually need them, they're nowhere to be seen? He called them off. He doesn't care, because if he did, he never would have called them off.

Laufey actually looked bewildered. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I was practically shaking with rage and hurt and betrayal and fear.

"The Ravens!" I shouted. "Or Uncle Tyr, or Uncle Bedwyr, or Volstagg or Hogun or Fandral. My brother. They weren't there."

I was hysterical, shrieking at the top of my lungs. There just isn't a better word for it. I think I even unnerved Laufey, who finally gestured for Helblindi to get me on my feet. The big man just reached under my arms and hauled me up as though I weighed as much as a bag of apples. I dangled from his hands while another goomba carelessly scooped Darcy off the ground and slung her over his shoulder. I struggled uselessly. Laufey recovered his Evil Villain aplomb and shooed his henchmen away.

"Put them somewhere out of the way until I have time for them."

I swear, every word out of his mouth could have been scripted by George Lucas.

Helblindi dumped us in a dark room. He didn't bother tying our hands together. I didn't bother calling for help. Nobody in this city would come. For that matter, I didn't even know where in the city we were. But it wouldn't matter. Nobody was going to rush into Laufey Jotunr's evil lair because they heard someone screaming for help.

Heck, in this neighborhood, it would probably be considered background noise.

I curled into a ball and hugged my knees to my chest. My father's men hadn't been there and that could only mean one thing. He was done. I'd finally done it; I'd managed to completely push my father out of my life.

Just what I always wanted.

Brilliant, Loki. Just brilliant.

I didn't cry, Tony, but it was a close thing.

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**A/N: This AU doesn't map very well I'm afraid. Loki seems too nice to me, even if this is an AU and he's the protagonist. I don't want him to be completely OOC, but I'm afraid I've gone too far to back out now.**

**Update will be on Friday instead of Thursday because I missed Monday and am slow.**

**My tumblr: indigo- night -wisp. tumblr. com**

**Next Chapter: Comments from the peanut gallery. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: ****"I never wanted the throne, I only ever wanted to be your equal!" –Loki, **_**Thor**_

**A/N: We could actually call this fic, "The One Where the Author Takes a Lot of Loki Quotes out of Context for Her Disclaimers, and Doesn't Even Try to Make Them Make Sense" but that probably wouldn't fit inside the title box.**

**Oh, look, we're switching POV. How exciting.**

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**Chapter 13:** **Unnskyldninger, norske gangstere**

Alternatively titled: In which Thor is smarter than he looks.

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Greetings, Dr. Stark. I am Thor d'Asgard. My brother asked me to write the portion of the story that he was not present for –namely, what the Family was doing while he was held captive.

Loki has assured me that you fully endorse doctor-patient confidentiality, and so I am taking it in good faith that you will accept this account as a portion of Loki's, and necessary for his well-being.

He also tells me that you pretend not to read these but that he knows you do anyway, so I will endeavor to be as clear and accurate as possible. Besides, my brother may read this, and even he has not heard every detail of what happened after he was taken by Laufey.

I hadn't been expecting trouble at all. Ever since my brother's argument with our father, things had been quiet on the Loki-front. Hugin and Munin were watching over Loki that Wednesday, and I was with the Warriors Three, conducting… business for my father.

Loki was reading over my shoulder and he said that if I am going to use euphemisms, I must also then speak plainly. So, alright then.

We were conducting business for my father. That is to say, we were collecting an overdue payment from a sad little man who worked peripherally for the family.

Alright, we were using force, but he deserved it. The entire interview could have gone so much more smoothly. But the very first thing Regin said when we came through his door was something nasty about Sif, which I will not repeat, even here. It was brave thing to say in the face of Odin d'Asgard's debt collector. Nevertheless, brave or not, he could not, of course, be allowed to speak of Sif in such a way, and so the Warriors Three began a quick lesson in proper ways to speak of a lady.

It may have involved a few broken fingers. I stand by my conviction that this way the lesson will stick.

While Hogun and Fandral were giving Regin an earnest talking to and Volstagg collected the money we had been sent to retrieve, I stood back and sent a quick text message to my father.

_Job's done._

Nothing fancy. Odin wasn't one to need detailed accounts of assignments, as long as they were completed without complications. I said the job was done and that was good enough for him.

My father's trust is a hard thing to earn. I do my best not to squander it.

_Good_, my father sent back. Satisfied, I began to pocket my phone, only for it to start ringing in my hand.

It was Jane Foster, Loki's friend from Roger's University. I grinned.

"Jane!" I beamed into the phone. She couldn't see me of course, but I wanted my voice to be cheerful and happy for her. We had been talking and texting ever since that day in the lab. That day hadn't turned out so well with Loki, but I'd gotten Jane's number, so it wasn't a total loss. She was brilliant and beautiful and I found myself thinking about her more and more all the time.

"Jane, I'm so glad you called. I was just thinking that I'd like to ask you –"

"Thor?" she interrupted, "listen. Yes, to whatever you were asking. I'd love to go out with you sometime, but right now –"

She kept talking, but I was mostly just grinning at nothing, replaying her words in my mind.

_She would _love_ to go out with me._

(Volstagg said later that I looked like an idiot, but I don't care.)

" –and I can't find her anywhere and I tried calling her cell-phone but it doesn't even go to voicemail before it turns off –"

"Wait, hold on," I interrupted, suddenly recognizing the note of worry and desperation in Jane's voice. "Start over. What is going on?" The Warriors Three finished their business and let Regin slump to the floor with a groan. He'd live, and was not my concern right now. I waved my friends away when they tried to listen in and they fell back with wide smiles.

"It's Darcy and Loki," she said. My blood went cold. "They went for coffee and now I can't find them anywhere."

My mind was working faster than I think it ever has in my life. "Maybe they're just…" I floundered. "Talking. A lot. And turned off their phones."

"Darcy doesn't turn her phone off," Jane's voice was firm. She knew this for a fact and I accepted it as such. Darcy doesn't turn her phone off.

"Maybe they're…" I smirked in spite of the worry I was starting to feel creep over my spine. "Otherwise occupied." Fandral snorted.

"Thor," Jane said impatiently, "your brother is more skittish than a colt on gelding day. Darcy has been trying to gentle him for weeks. Do you really think their relationship would progress from coffee to sex in the course of one afternoon?

I grinned at her bluntness. Jane definitely is not one to use euphemisms.

"You're right," I told her, trying to soothe. It seemed like a good plan. Scientists like hearing that they're right, don't they? Telling Loki that he's right usually makes him at least 50% more reasonable and just because he's a different kind of scientist than Jane doesn't mean that the same tactics don't work.

"Yes, well," Jane sounded mollified and I made a mental note that my hypothesis was correct. "I'm walking over to the coffee shop to see if I can find anything."

"Jane, wait," I said, suddenly worried that something or someone might still be lurking around the coffee shop. "Are you sure, why don't you wait for me and –"

"Too late," Jane said. "When I said I was walking over to the coffee shop, that really meant I was already there, and was crossing the street over to the coffee shop. I –" her voice cut off as if she was being choked.

"Jane?" I asked sharply. The Warriors Three looked up at me in concern.

"Thor," she said, her voice shaking and sounding close to tears. "Oh, no, Thor, I… I found Darcy's cell phone! It's here, on the ground. The screen is cracked and it's not working… Thor!"

"Jane, get out of there!"

"Wait, I… I got it to turn on. Darcy… there's a recording. She was recording something. And –" her breath caught. "Thor, I found her taser."

"Jane," I said, "get out of there, _now_. Get in your car and meet me at Roger's, okay? I will be right there, alright?"

"O-okay," she said shakily. "Alright." I heard her boot heels on the concrete and the slam of a car door. "Okay, I'm in the car."

"Meet me at Roger's," I repeated. "I'm on my way." I hung up before I could convince myself to stay on the phone indefinitely. The Warriors faced me bemusedly.

"Where are you running off to?" Volstagg asked with a raised eyebrow. I took a deep breath.

"Jane says that Darcy Lewis and Loki went to coffee after class and neither one of them has been seen or heard from since," I said curtly. "I haven't heard anything from Hugin or Munin, so I'm going to call them, and while I'm doing that, we're going to meet Jane at the university. She found Darcy's phone on the sidewalk."

Hogun was already moving for the door. "Let's go," he said, jerking his head.

We piled into the car and drove away. Hogun was careful not to speed, even though I'm sure he could feel my concern and tension. I called Munin and waited impatiently for him to pick up.

"Thor," Munin greeted me somberly.

"Munin, where is Loki?" I asked immediately. There was a pause.

"I assume he is at home…"

"What do you mean, 'you assume'?" I practically snarled. "Aren't you with him?"

"No!" Munin snapped. "Hugin and I were removed from babysitting duty today by the Allfather and replaced by Tyr. Why? _What's happening?_"

I took a deep breath. "I'm calling Tyr," is all I said, and then I hung up. Immediately I dialed Tyr and waited impatiently for the pick-up. It didn't come. I cursed and tried again. Nothing.

"Thor," Hogun said, "we're here."

I looked out the window and saw Jane. "Keep trying Uncle Tyr," I ordered. I jumped out of the car and ran over to where she was standing next to her car, arms wrapped around herself, looking very upset.

"Jane," I said, reaching out to pull her into my arms. She buried her face in my chest and shuddered.

"Thank you for coming," she said. I squeezed her gently and said, "Of course."

"It's just," she took a deep breath, "it's _Darcy_, you know?"

I did know. I thought of Loki, of sleepless nights after he moved out, wondering if he was okay in his apartment across the city, if he was going to be okay all by himself. What if he had one of those nightmares he gets sometimes? What if he got into a fight with one of his neighbors and had a panic attack? What if there were monsters in his closet and I wasn't there to fight them off for him?

(I had a little bit of trouble with letting go the first couple of months after Loki moved out.)

"Yeah," I answered Jane. "I know." I grasped her shoulders and pulled her back to look into her face. "Where's the phone?"

Jane reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the cracked cell phone. The screen was lit with a picture of Jane and Darcy making funny faces at each other. She slid her thumb across the screen and a sound player popped up. She looked at me nervously and I nodded. She pushed play.

" –ust a car, Loki," Darcy's voice soothed from the speakers. It sounded like she'd turned the recorder on in the middle of a sentence. _A car?_ I thought. _What car would that be?_

"Let's _go_," my little brother's voice insisted.

"_Alright_ –hey!"

Jane and I stared at the phone in mounting horror as the sounds of fists striking flesh and Darcy's shrieks took over the recording. I could hear Loki cursing in the background, barely audible over the sound of Darcy's furious and terrified screams. And then suddenly, the screaming went quiet, and all we could hear was the sound of Loki struggling with a number of men.

"Grab his feet!" a man growled and my brother spat like an angry cat.

"Aw, sonuva– that little snake kicked me in the jaw! Get him down!"

Something heavy cracked loudly against something soft and Loki went quiet. I could feel my heart pounding against my chest in both fear and fury. There were some more scuffling noises and then another curse as one of the men found Darcy's phone and its recorder.

"Smash it," one of the men said. "And let's go." There was a loud crack, a crunch, and then the recording stopped. I looked at the phone and realized that the goomba had tried to crush the phone but had only managed to crack the screen. In all likelihood, the recording had stopped because of the impact, but nothing was really damaged. I glanced up to meet Jane's eyes.

Her face had gone completely white. She looked stricken. "They –someone… they," she stammered, voice pitching into panic.

I will be completely honest here, Dr. Stark. I have never been so terrified in my entire life. Years ago, when Loki was kidnapped the first time, nobody even knew about it until he was already released and sent home. I didn't have the chance to be properly afraid. But now I was feeling every moment of it –breath caught in my throat, chills worked their way up my spine, my stomach turned over and churned.

"What do we do?" Jane whispered. "We –we have to call the police."

I snapped out of my daze and said, "No –no police. We, I have to tell my dad."

Jane gaped at me. "What? Thor, this recording sounds like Darcy and Loki have been kidnapped! We have to call the police!"

"Uh," I winced. "My family doesn't really, um. Get along with the police."

Jane looked exasperated. "Well, we have to do something! Darcy wouldn't be involved with anything illegal, so whatever they were doing when they were kidnapped probably isn't going to get them in trouble with the police, so –"

"We have to call my dad," I interrupted. I thought briefly about being offended that she seemed to assume any illegality that Darcy and Loki might have been up to would be Loki's fault, but, well.

Yeah.

"Please, Jane," I said, "just – let me call my dad. He can help."

She looked skeptical, but before she could say anything, Hogun tapped me on the shoulder and silently handed me his phone.

They'd finally gotten through to Tyr. I put the phone to my ear.

"Thor, I'm kind of busy here," he said impatiently, "can this wait?"

I felt relief surge through me. That was definitely Uncle Tyr's "so done" tone, which was one that all of Loki's babysitters had in common when they were dealing with him. Maybe he was safe and sound and driving Uncle Tyr up the wall. "You're with Loki and Darcy then?"

He paused and I felt the dread return. "Loki? No, your father pulled everyone in. We were all on a job, dealing with Thrym and his jackholes. Apparently your little stunt with the wedding has longer reaching repercussions than you thought it would. They've been staging some kind of rebellion all day."

"So who's watching Loki?" I demanded, fear making my voice sharp and high-pitched.

"Didn't you hear me? Nobody is watching Loki."

I struggled to breathe. Jane watched me in concern.

"Thor? Thor what's going on?" Uncle Tyr was asking.

My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard.

"Ragnorak."

"What?" his voice was sharp, piercing.

"Call my dad, Uncle Tyr. Ragnorak."

000

I brought Jane with me back to Yggdrasil. I didn't really mean to, but she didn't give me much choice.

"I'm coming," she said. "Darcy is like my sister, and Loki is my friend, too. I'm coming. I want to help them."

Would it surprise you, brother, to hear Jane call herself your friend? Perhaps not now, but I think it would have shocked you back then.

Sometimes, Loki, I don't think you like yourself very much.

Jane sat quietly in between me and Fandral in the backseat. Volstagg rode shotgun and Hogun drove, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror. He caught Jane's eye once and tried to look reassuring.

Hogun doesn't really do reassuring very well, to be honest.

"This is where you live?" Jane asked incredulously as Hogun parked the car and we climbed out.

I glanced up at Yggdrasil's massive face and answered, "Yeah," somewhat distractedly.

"Wow," Jane whistled. "Your dad must have some major construction contracts."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, he… does."

Construction, as I'm sure Loki has told you, Dr. Stark, is my father's cover for the Family Business. That's not to say we don't take some legal and completely realistic construction jobs, but for the most part, we deal more in diamonds than in cement blocks. Though sometimes we do hide diamonds in cement blocks, because those things are very useful for our sort of business.

"Come, on," I said to Jane, taking her hand and leading her towards the front door. "We have to go see my parents."

The door opened before we reached it and my mother appeared, calm and welcoming even though I knew she had to be frantic. "Thor," she said, reaching up to embrace me and kiss my cheek. "And this must be the Jane we have heard so much about," she smiled at Jane and offered her hand gently.

Jane shook it bemusedly. "You told them about me?" she said to me.

"Of course," I answered. Why wouldn't I? I shook the question away and asked, "Where's Father?"

Mom smiled anxiously and gestured for us to follow her. She led the way into the kitchen, where what seemed to be the entire Family was gathered.

"Dad," I said, stepping forward. My father looked up and stood, and then noticed Jane. His face went from relieved welcome to cool politeness instantly.

"Thor," he said, "what is she doing here?"

"She wouldn't go home," I said dryly. At my side Jane bristled.

"I'm here because my best friend got kidnapped today while she was out with _your_ son!" she snapped. "And I want to know what the heck is going on here and why Thor won't let me call the police!"

Dad looked startled. I was startled too. I'd never heard anyone talk to Odin like that. Jane was braver than I was. The whole room seemed to hold its breath until my father suddenly relaxed.

"Alright then, Miss Foster," he said. "You'll have your answers. But you must be patient, understand? We have to figure out what's going on ourselves before we can tell you."

Jane nodded smartly. "Fine. But you _will _tell me."

"Of course," my father said. He turned to me, face immediately grave again. "Tyr said Ragnorak."

I nodded.

"Loki." It wasn't a question. I nodded again anyway.

The family speaks in euphemisms. We have to, our way of life is too dangerous for casual conversation sometimes. We have codes for everything, especially when we're talking over the phone. We have a code for "the job went bad," a code for "all's well," one for "I need help," and one for "back off, I've got this." We have a code for when Family is in danger. And then there's one for when it's the _family_ in danger.

Ragnorak.

The end of the world.

Odin swore fluently. My mother started and then said, "Odin," quietly. Dad sighed and rubbed his hand over his beard.

"Sorry, Frigga," he said. "But I just… I can't believe this."

"Why didn't you leave somebody to watch him?" Mom asked sharply.

Father whipped around. "Because I was under the obviously mistaken belief the Loki was an adult and could take care of himself for one miserable afternoon!" he snapped.

"How could he?" my mother cried. "He didn't even know to be on guard. You didn't _tell _him anything!"

"He didn't need to know," Dad growled. "If he had just _listened _to me and done what I told him to do in the first place, this wouldn't have been a problem."

"You would have locked him up in this house and he would have gone out of his mind," Mom scolded. "I've told you before, Odin. Your son needs _answers_, he needs _reasons_. If you just tell him that he should do something 'because you say so,' that doesn't work anymore. He's not a little boy. He wants explanations for what you do, but you never give him any!"

The Family stood around awkwardly while my parents shouted at each other. Jane looked completely nonplussed.

"Thor," she whispered to me. "What the heck is going on?"

I sighed. "Long story," I tried. She crossed her arms and looked down her nose at me. I have no idea how she managed that, seeing as how she's almost a foot shorter than me, but she did. I caved.

"Okay, so basically my dad has this… rival. Like a business rival, you know?" She nodded. "Right, and lately, the guy has been sending my dad… threats."

Jane gaped. "_Threats_?" she said incredulously. "People actually do that? Isn't that illegal?"

"Uh, yeah," I said wryly. "Pretty much. Anyway, Laufey's threats became… really specific in the past couple of months."

Jane's eyes narrowed. "Specific how?"

I swallowed. _I'm sorry, Loki. I'm sorry I never said anything. I thought I was keeping you safe._ "Loki. He was threatening Loki."

Jane gasped. I nodded miserably.

"We've been trying to keep an eye on him. He's had guards with him ever since the last threat was delivered, nearly two weeks ago. It was…" I grimaced. "Nasty, to say the least."

We'd received the note in the mail. Just a simple letter, mailed from an address that we knew from experience would just be an unsuspecting family home in a suburb somewhere. Laufey had put a little smiley face next to our address. It had jagged teeth. Dad had gingerly opened the letter and gone completely still.

_You have such a lovely family, Odin. Your youngest, what is he, twenty years old now? And in college, you must be so proud. But I'm sure it's hard, with him living away from home. Don't you worry, his apartment is a very nice one. The security could use some work of course, but overall, I think you'd be pleased._

_I'm going to take him one day, you know. I'm going to pull him off the street and take him home with me. I'll cut his ears off. I'll skin him alive. Maybe I'll send him back to you. In pieces. He's going to scream, Odin. He's going to __wail__. He's going to cry for his daddy, but you won't be there, will you? Because you won't know that he's gone until it's too late. He doesn't live with you anymore. You've lost him._

That was when Father decided to have Loki move back to Yggdrasil. Clearly, that worked out well.

Jane looked pensive. "So, what…" she looked afraid to ask and I knew she'd figured it out, at least partially. Jane was a genius, there was no way she hadn't figured it out by now.

"Your family," she said hesitantly. I waited patiently, unoffended. I couldn't and wouldn't change my family, so if Jane couldn't handle it… I supposed this thing between us wasn't going to work.

"Are they… um. This is weird. How do you ask something like this?" she complained. I smirked. My parents had ended their brief shouting match and were now murmuring to each other too quietly to be overheard. Even if they were, the Family would just politely pretend they hadn't heard a thing. Jane huffed a sigh.

"Are you criminals?" she asked bluntly. I suppressed my grin.

"No comment," I said. She rolled her eyes over to give me an incredulous glare.

"Seriously? _Seriously_?"

"I can't tell you anything without my father's permission," I told her quite honestly. "If he says it's okay to tell you, then I'll tell you everything. But until then, I'm not admitting to anything."

Jane looked disturbed. "Thor," she said, "I wasn't, I wasn't _accusing _you of anything."

"I know," I assured her. "But it's a… legality thing. So, just… wait, please."

She nodded, slowly, and then more firmly. "Alright," she said, and I felt something tighten in my chest. This amazing woman who was so brilliant and beautiful was also understanding enough (or maybe just curious enough) to give me the benefit of the doubt, even when I had all but confessed to being a mobster.

"You're a wonder, Jane Foster," I told her seriously. She blushed.

"Alright," my mother said suddenly, drawing our attention back to the matter at hand. Frigga and Odin stood side by side, united once more as they always seemed to be. "Thor, you said that Jane had a recording of the kidnapping?"

Jane stepped forward and offered Darcy's phone to my mother. "Here," she said. Mom nodded and gave her a gentle smile, because that's what my mother does. She comforts even when she needs it herself. And then she pushed play.

The recording was even worse the second time around. I think Volstagg started crying. Sif was glaring at the floor. My father's face had frozen in fury and my mother looked increasingly distraught. But it was Hugin that surprised us all.

I'm sure Loki has mentioned that Hugin rarely speaks? And that when he does it is almost always in short, clipped sentences?

He _groaned_, loud and long, burying his face in his hands and slumping over next to his brother.

"Hugin?" Munin looked alarmed. I'm sure we all did. Hugin never lost his composure.

"Stupid, so _stupid_, brother!" Hugin moaned. "We should have _checked_. When the Allfather pulled us from watching Loki, we should have made _sure_ that someone would be there in our place. Norns, we didn't even think to _notice_ when half of the Family showed up at the rumble with Thrym and all the usual suspects were there and not a one of them missing to be with Loki. We should have _seen _it, Munin!"

Now even Munin looked upset and my father suddenly pushed forward to soothe. "No," he said softly, "no, my Ravens, it is not your fault. You couldn't have known, could you? I was the one to call everyone off, anyway."

The Family looked shocked by Odin actually acknowledging that he had made a mistake, but I was too busy being surprised by something else.

"Wait, hold on a minute," I said. "You call them ravens, too?"

Dad raised an eyebrow at me. "It's a long story," he said, "an inside joke. What do you mean, 'too'? Who else calls them that?"

"Loki," Munin said quietly. "Loki calls us the Ravens."

We were all quiet for a moment and then Hugin took a deep breath and said, "If anything happens to him, I'll never forgive myself."

The "or you," was unspoken but clearly understood. My father grimaced in sympathy and agreement and clapped Hugin on the shoulder.

You see, what Loki doesn't understand –either now, or then– is that yes, we don't trust him to take care of himself, but it's because we expect ourselves to do so for him. He's not the annoying tagalong he seems to think he is. Loki is the baby of our family, but he's also the baby of the Family, and everyone is far more fond of him than he'd like to believe. (Probably because it's hard to pass yourself off as a cynical loner when you're the darling of a large group of mobsters who like to drop you off at school and insist that you kiss them goodbye.)

"Alright," Dad said. "We need a plan. And some information. Who's got the kids would be a good starting point."

"We know who has them," Fandral pointed out. "It's gotta be Laufey."

The Allfather rolled his eyes. "Yes, very helpful. But is it Laufey himself, one of Laufey's goons, or someone Laufey paid to pick them up? And where is he keeping them, either way?"

"And why did he take Darcy?" Jane put in. Odin looked at her approvingly.

"I like her," he said. "Smart girl. Get someone on that, too. We'll meet back here in one hour, and I want all the information we can get. Tyr, find out if someone saw the kidnapping. Hogun, you and Sif find all of Laufey's property in the city. I don't care if it's an empty plot of earth, I want to know about it. Thor," he paused and looked at me solemnly. "You're staying here."

I wanted to protest, but he overruled me before I even opened my mouth. "I know you want to go looking immediately, but we don't have any place to start yet, and I don't want you out there while Laufey's goombas are on the hunt. They might take you too, and then where would we be?"

"They took your brother to get to your father," Mom said reasonably. "We all know that. Don't make yourself a target."

Reluctantly, I nodded, seeing the sense in what they were saying. The Family started to file out of the kitchen on their assignments.

"What can I do?" Jane asked determinedly. Mom turned to her.

"You can help me," she said, wrapping an arm around Jane's shoulders.

"What are you going to do?" Jane asked. Mom smiled and gestured to the stove.

"Everyone is always so hungry after problems like this are resolved," she said cheerfully. "I make sure they have a good hot meal waiting for them."

Jane looked a little skeptical, like she was thinking that staying in the kitchen wasn't the most helpful thing in getting Darcy and Loki back, but didn't want to say so out of politeness. My father chuckled.

"Make no mistake, Miss Foster," he said, pinning her under his steely gaze. "All of the important things in the Family happen in this kitchen."

Jane looked thoughtful and nodded slowly.

"Come on," my dad said to me. "Let's go make sure we're well-stocked with provisions for this expedition."

Guns.

He meant guns.

Hey, I can be candid occasionally. Loki's right. Sometimes, euphemisms just don't have the same ring to them.

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**A/N: How's my Thor voice?**

**My tumblr: indigo-night-wisp . tumblr . com**

**Next Chapter: As first dates go, this one sucks.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: ****"I'm not overly fond of what follows..." –Loki, Avengers**

**A/N: Okay, so this chapter is mostly just straight up torture and pain. It's not really all that graphic, because I'm kind of a wimp when it comes to that stuff, but it's still kind of on the ick side, I guess.**

**We're back to Loki's POV, as well, in case that wasn't clear.**

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**Chapter 14:** **Ingen fornærmelse ment**

Alternatively titled: In which Loki doesn't know when to shut up.

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Darcy woke up swearing. I actually grinned despite myself at the sound of her hoarse voice spitting profanities at the walls. Presumably, she was untied, like I was. There wasn't much point in tying us up; we couldn't get out of the room. I knew –I'd already tried.

What I would've given for some nitric acid and hydrogen peroxide. Some explosive chemicals would have been brilliant.

Or, failing that, my lock-picks and a crowbar would have been nice.

Darcy trailed off and hesitantly called out, "Loki?"

"Hello, Darcy Lewis," I said, leaning my head back against the wall I had been sitting with my back to ever since my failed attempt to open the door.

"Loki," she gasped. I could hear her shuffling around, even though I couldn't see a thing. "Where are you? Are you okay? What is going on?"

Uhhhh…

I thought about it for about three whole seconds, I really did. Then I shrugged and sent a mental Who Cares out to the universe. It wasn't like she wasn't already involved.

So I told her the basics. My father, Laufey, my stalkers (besides herself, of course), and eventually, Laufey's reasons for kidnapping us.

"You were sort of an accident, I think, if that makes you feel better," I offered. "I'm pretty sure it was just me he wanted."

"You know, surprisingly, no, it does not make me feel better to learn that the mob boss who kidnapped me was actually only trying to kidnap the guy I have a crush on, oops, sorry."

I bit my lip. Not that we didn't have more important concerns but… "Crush?"

I could hear her pausing. "Loki," she said, sounding amused and like she was trying to be very patient. "_Loki_."

"You know," I pointed out grumpily, "it does not actually clear anything up when you just repeat my name over and over."

"Ohhhh," she half-gasped, half-groaned. "You're impossible."

The words were snide but the tone was almost inexplicably fond. I huffed in offense anyway.

"Loki," Darcy whispered out of the darkness, suddenly sounding very serious. I didn't respond and I heard her scooting closer to me. "Loki?"

I sighed wearily, tired already from our banter. (I know, Tony. Me, tired of banter? I must have been in serious trouble.

Oh. _Wait_.)

"Yeah?" I said.

"I have a confession to make."

I sighed again. What now? She worked for Laufey? She was supposed to get close to me and then fell for me and now she was sorry? She was secretly working for my father? (That one might actually have been worse.) She was –waiting for me to say something.

"What is it?" I asked.

"The other day, in the lab? When Thor came?"

"What about it?"

"I didn't just guess your coffee order," she admitted. "I already knew it."

There was a pause.

"Oh," I said, feeling a smile begin to spread helplessly across my face.

"Yes," she said.

"_Oh_."

"_Yes_."

I started laughing. After a moment, Darcy started giggling as well. I could hear her scuffling around in the darkness and I wondered what she was doing until I realized that she was right next to me, hand waving through the blackness until it brushed against my cheek. I sucked in a sharp breath and she paused for a moment before carefully allowing her fingers to trace over my face.

"Hi," Darcy whispered. "Found you."

I shivered. The last person who had touched me like this had been Thor's creepy not-girlfriend Amora, and it had been distinctly unpleasant. This though, this was gentle and non-invasive, delicate fingers finding my cheekbones, the bridge of my nose, my eyebrows. It felt good. _Darcy _felt good.

"Hi," I responded at last, practically gasping for breath.

"You don't let a lot of people get close to you very often, do you?" I could hear the smile in her voice.

I laughed shakily. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, you do kind of give off 'don't look at me don't touch me vibes' stronger than Professor Howlett's, so yeah, a little bit."

I rolled my eyes. "Didn't stop you."

"Well, yeah," she said, "I'm kind of invested."

"But how did you get so invested? If I'm all kinds of obnoxious and 'leave-me-alone,' why would you even try?"

She shook a little and it took me a moment to realize she was laughing. "Oh, Loki," she giggled. "Frankly, I think you severely underestimate the captivating potential of your cheekbones."

"Oh." I was blushing, which was stupid, because it was too dark for her to see me anyway, but I still wanted to touch my own face. I restrained myself and said lightly, "Is that it then? My purely aesthetic beauty lured you in?"

"Yup," she answered, completely comfortable with this confession. "And then, of course, after I started paying attention, there was all the other stuff like how you're really smart and how snarky you can be sometimes and how you don't let Phil Coulson bully you into doing things just to make him leave you alone… oh, wait," she feigned thoughtfulness. "I guess you can't claim that anymore."

I poked her in the side in retaliation and she squealed.

"Yeah, whatever," I said. We sat in silence for a few minutes. After about two, Darcy's head fell on my shoulder and stayed there. I grinned into the darkness and managed to pretend that we weren't prisoners of my father's arch-enemy, locked in a pitch-black room with no chance of escape.

Sometimes, Tony, I'm so good at lying, I can even convince myself.

000

Laufey came for us eventually. I didn't know how long it had been, but I was aching and hungry, so probably a good few hours at least. Darcy stiffened beside me when the door creaked open and lights suddenly flooded the room. I managed to fling an arm over my face and pulled her head down into my shoulder again, so we weren't totally blinded, but it still took a few moments of blinking before I could focus my eyes on Laufey.

He looked far too pleased with himself. I immediately felt ten times more uncomfortable.

"Alright then, let's –"

"Who are you?" Darcy interrupted his villain monologue (seriously, he was rubbing his hands together and everything) with a scathing snort and a raised eyebrow. Laufey stopped short in sheer surprise and stared at her. She glared up at him with as much gusto as she had shown when she was standing up and carrying her taser and I felt a sudden rush of affection. It was very strange, but not unpleasant.

_Is this what Thor feels like when he… exists? _I mused to myself.

"Enough!" Laufey snapped, shaking me out of my brief interlude with my own distraction. "Miss… Lewis, is it? You are not the point of this conversation, so kindly keep yourself out of it. We'll finish here shortly anyway."

Darcy gaped and sputtered in indignation. I rolled my eyes and kicked her, trying to get her to realize that being overlooked in this situation could only be a good thing. She shot me a look that said she was perfectly aware of this, but was slightly concerned about what that would mean for me.

I blinked, surprised at how easily we were able to communicate ideas to each other without speaking.

"You," Laufey's attention had turned to me. "You and I are going to have a talk."

I smirked. It was practically instinct. I couldn't have stopped it if I tried. "Oh, that doesn't sound like a line at all. Well done."

Laufey bent down and put his face next to mine. I tried not to recoil from the invasion of my personal space.

"Do keep up the attitude, Loki," he said, voice trailing over the syllables of my name like he was licking them. I shuddered involuntarily and Laufey backed off, apparently satisfied that he had thoroughly disgusted me.

_I need a shower_, I thought.

We did not talk. If that was what Laufey considered talking, then I have news for you, Tony, Laufey was a freaking moron. There was no talking.

There was, however, quite a bit of screaming.

They started with the basics, methodically shoving me to the floor and aiming deliberate kicks at my sides and back. I curled in over my stomach, trying to protect my vital organs, which of course, just left my back and kidneys open targets. I didn't scream for that part. I didn't have the breath to spare. One of my ribs cracked and I let out a strangled yelp and immediately ran out of air.

They left me on the floor for a moment, gasping for breath and slowly realizing that the screeching I was hearing was coming from an incensed and horrified Darcy Lewis. Eventually, Laufey sent someone to shut her up, which I hoped meant a gag, not a knock to the head. Darcy didn't need a concussion on top of all the other crap she was dealing with because of me.

"Well," Laufey said cheerfully, "I think that was enough warm-up. Let's get to the main event."

"Glorious," I managed to gasp out, hands pressed as tightly as I dared against my sides. Laufey beamed. I snarled silently.

Helblindi pulled me to my feet and then knocked me down again with one judicious punch delivered to my jaw. I felt the swelling begin. I was going to have trouble chewing for awhile.

_If I ever get out of here, _my oh-so-helpful inner voice pointed out.

The next blow caught my eye, blacking it instantly. I tried not to sigh, but couldn't help it.

"Oh, I apologize, are we boring you?" Laufey asked me solicitously. I rolled my eyes at him.

"It's just that you're so unoriginal. I feel like I'm in _The Godfather_."

"Oh, well, we can't have you getting bored can we?" He kept smiling.

Tony, this may come as a surprise to you, but sometimes, I can be somewhat… mouthy.

Shocking, I know.

"Is there any particular reason you're doing this? I mean, it can't be for information. Even _you _can't be stupid enough to think that you're going to get anything useful out of me."

Laufey sneered. "I'm doing this," he said, drawing the words out the way he had lingered over my name earlier, "because I _enjoy_ it." He leaned in close to me again. "I like listening to you scream."

Freak.

"I haven't screamed yet," I pointed out sassily.

"Ah," he straightened up. "That is a problem, isn't it? I shall endeavor to correct such an oversight immediately."

Oops.

I did scream. You would too if a three-hundred pound goomba stomped on your hand. Amazingly, my fingers didn't break, though I couldn't feel them anymore after the initial crush.

I screamed when my shoulder was jerked out of socket, when Helblindi ripped my shirt completely off and dragged a cheese grater (yes, you read that right, a _cheese grater_) down my chest and abdomen. I screamed until I couldn't when Laufey wrapped a wire around my throat and _pulled_. Steady pressure, cutting off my breath and burning a line of agony across my neck. I screamed as I felt the skin split, terror taking over my mind for a minute before reason returned to remind me that Laufey didn't want me dead. Not yet anyway.

I screamed some more when Helblindi kicked me in the kneecap. I thought for sure he'd shattered it, but apparently that wasn't the plan, because it was just bruised, not broken.

Darcy was crying, silent tears running down her cheeks as Laufey and his men leveled more abuse upon my aching body. They hadn't touched her except to gag her. I craned my neck as far as I could, squinting through my black eye and straining my ringing ears through the remains of the dizziness that comes from having your head cracked into a floor. Two goombas held her fast, arms twisted painfully, but not damaging.

Laufey is good at what he does.

Psychological torture is still torture, isn't it, Tony?

Laufey was chuckling when he bent down to grab me by the hair again. He pulled me up easily and I hissed at the pain. He grinned.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"You're an imbecile." Not my best comeback maybe, but I was so furious and in so much pain, I wasn't in the best of shape for creative insults. He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Your attitude leaves much to be desired, young man," he lectured.

I spit in his face. He dropped me, suddenly far less genial.

"Oh," he said, "I see we'll have to do something about that mouth. Fine. I was just about finished here anyway. Boys," he said to Helblindi and the other goombas, "our grand finale. Get us a chair, won't you?"

That didn't sound good.

"Gonna offer me a seat, Laufey?" I asked. "Finally. You know, the service in this place is somewhat lacking."

Laufey gave me a tight-lipped glare. I mentally awarded myself a score for irritating him and finally knocking the smile off his ugly face. My entire body hurt, literally from head to toe. I wasn't looking forward to what he had planned next, but sometimes, well, you know me, Tony. Sometimes I just can't help myself.

I didn't figure out what was going to happen until I was planted firmly in the chair, goombas holding me down on all sides.

I should have kept my mouth shut, probably. Most likely. Almost definitely.

Note to self, Laufey does not appreciate a smart-mouth. If I thought he had before, I was most definitely wrong. He'd been saving this.

They were holding me down, pinning me to the chair and tilting my head back, holding my face steady with an unshakable iron grip. I bit one of them and received a clip to the jaw in return for it.

"Thanks guys. Real nice handling of the merchandise, here."

I kept up the sass right up until the moment Laufey nodded to one of the men not holding me and the goomba pulled a staple gun out of his back pocket and started towards me.

"What's that for?" I rolled my eyes. "Do I look like a stack of unpaid parking tickets to you?"

Laufey smiled. It was terrifying. "Hold him down," he ordered, and suddenly I wasn't feeling so smart anymore.

I was begging before I even felt the cold metal against my lips. I'm not proud of it, but it's the truth. I knew exactly what he was going to do and I was desperate to stop it.

I didn't stop it.

The first staple tore right out as I opened my mouth wide and screamed. And then three different goombas piled onto me and held my mouth closed and I was reduced to whimpering as Laufey stood back and calmly watched his men staple my lips together.

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**A/N: Why yes I do think I'm clever, thanks for noticing.**

**Sorry about the late update, but just so you all know: Updates will be once a week, on Thursdays from now on. There are only a few chapters left.**

**Additional, No-Longer-A-Spoiler Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Godfather**_**. Actually, I've never **_**seen **_**it either, so there is also that.**

**Next Chapter: Reflection. It's good for the soul.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: ****"I missed you too." –Loki, **_**Avengers**_

**A/N: Thank you so much to all reviewers!**

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**Chapter 15:** **Jeg er sikker på at du er like gangster som italienerne**

Alternatively titled: In which Loki is extremely irritated and Darcy does not freak out.

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I think I probably passed out. It seems likely, since I then woke up later. Darcy was gently petting my face and sniffling.

"Loki?" she whispered. "Loki, are you awake?"

I moaned and opened my eyes. They hadn't bothered to turn the lights off again. Dark hair spilled down into my vision.

"Oh, sorry." She sat back and pushed her hair over her shoulder. I grunted and sat up.

Darcy's face was pale and her eyes were red but it didn't look like Laufey had physically hurt her. I raised my eyebrows and gestured to her.

"I'm fine," she said immediately. "They didn't… they didn't even touch me." Her face started to crumple and I felt my eyebrows nearly climb off of my forehead.

I admit, Tony, I'm not really good with crying women. Or men. Or children.

I'm actually bad with crying in general, okay? It is very hard for me to know what to do in a situation like that, because my first response is most definitely _not _to be sympathetic, and I've been reliably informed that this is A Bad Thing.

I patted Darcy on the shoulder gingerly. She sniffed and blinked and somehow didn't actually start crying. I thanked whoever might be listening and shook my head, looking at Darcy and shrugging. I was trying to ask her what had happened after I lost consciousness.

"What?" she asked. I rolled my eyes and raised my eyebrows, pointing at the door and making a "So?" gesture with my hands.

"Oh!" she got it. "After you… well, after, they just… finished and then they left." She shrugged. "That guy, Laufey, right? He's, uh. Kind of a psychopath, isn't he?" She was starting to look less scared and more annoyed.

I widened my eyes as much as I could and inclined my head like I couldn't believe my ears. Darcy actually laughed.

"Oh, shut up."

I rolled my eyes again and she bit her lip.

"Maybe that wasn't the best phrase to use," she admitted. I tried to smirk and instantly regretted it. The noise of pain I made killed our playful mood immediately.

"Are you okay?" Darcy whispered. I nodded and blinked away the beginnings of tears from my eyes. The last thing either of us needed was for me to start crying.

Darcy settled down next to me and laid her head on my shoulder gently. She was pressing on one of my blossoming bruises, but I didn't want her to move away, so I just ignored it. We just sat there for a moment before her breathing settled out and her eyes closed.

Sleeping was good, but I really wasn't up for it.

Instead, I allowed myself to catalogue injuries. Bruises everywhere, hands stiff and aching, knee… ow, yeah, the knee was bad. And then there was… the staples.

That miserable excuse of a life form had _stapled my lips together_. I could feel the metal pulling with every minute twitch of my face. I was going to have to really be careful not to physically react to anything that happened until I got out of this. The blood from the first staple that hadn't stuck was crusted under my mouth and across my chin.

_Ewww._

It hurt. It really, really hurt.

And what was even the point? Was I supposed to be bait for my father? Was Laufey really expecting Odin to come and personally rescue me from his dastardly clutches? Was this just some psychological game Laufey was playing? He said he had beaten me up because he enjoyed it, but why had he bothered to kidnap me and Darcy in the first place?

This sucked, a lot.

I don't know how long it was before Darcy woke up. Probably only an hour or two, but it felt like forever. Turns out, having just your own thoughts for company when you've been kidnapped and tortured kind of messes with your mind. I felt like I was going crazy, the same thoughts flying around my brain over and over again.

_Why? What's going on outside? What is Laufey planning?_

_Is my family coming?_

_I want my brother._

_I want my mom._

_I want my _dad_._

That was the worst, really, because I was still angry with my father, but now Laufey had scared me and hurt me and apparently I revert to a complete child when that happens and all I wanted was for my family to come and save me.

Pathetic.

Darcy stirred eventually, sitting up carefully and turning back to stare at my no doubt completely disgusting face. She looked worried. Her fingers brushed my cheek softly.

"Have you ever been so quiet before?" she tried to joke, still delicately stroking my face with her thumb. I rolled my eyes, my main form of communication, and shrugged. She had a point. I was many things, but quiet was generally not one of them.

"I am trying not to freak out," Darcy announced suddenly. "I mean, this is kind of a lot to take in. Like, mobsters. That's, that's a thing, apparently. A thing in your life."

I shrugged.

"And," she continued, "that's, I mean… that's insane, sorry to break it to you. That is actually crazy."

I nodded agreeably. No arguments there. My family was definitely crazy.

Darcy huffed. She was smiling, which I thought was a bit unusual given the circumstances, but whatever. However she needed to deal with trauma and all that.

"Is it weird," she asked, "that I like you anyway? Even with your crazy family?"

I couldn't tell her that I thought it was crazy that she like me at all, but I still nodded, trying to keep my lips from doing something stupid.

Like _smile_, _Tony_, get your mind out of the gutter.

"Shut up," she said again, smiling widely at me. I sighed.

Darcy settled down again soon and the two of us just sat in silence that wasn't as awkward as it could have been. I guess the whole getting kidnapped thing had catapulted our relationship beyond awkward silences.

I hurt everywhere. It was ridiculous. Every single inch of my body was aching. Except for my mouth. That was more like a burning sting.

"Loki…"

Darcy's voice was concerned. Probably in a general sort of way, seeing as how we were y'know, kidnapped and all, but I liked to think that she was at least a little bit worried about the fact that I looked like I'd been locked in a dungeon with snake venom dripping down on me from above for a hundred years.

(So, Tony, maybe now is a good time to mention that I have some freakishly intense nightmares, right?)

I glanced up at Darcy. She didn't look too scared now (which, privately, I thought was a bit stupid –I was scared witless and she just sits there calmly? Not. Fair.), but I tried to look reassuring anyway. She gulped a little and I winced. Okay, so reassuring, not my best look. Huffing, I turned away. Well fine then. If she didn't appreciate my efforts…

"Do you hear that?" she asked suddenly. I shrugged but then listened. Sure enough, I caught a faint sound. Shouting? Was someone yelling loud enough that we could hear them all the way in here? It seemed to be coming closer, and –yeah, that was definitely someone yelling.

And it sounded familiar.

The tone, the voice… granted, I had never heard it sound _quite _so angry, but I would still recognize it anywhere. But… but that was impossible, right? There was no way that she…

My head snapped up. Stupid, Loki… Of course there was a way. Where there's a will, there's a way, and if anyone had the will, she did.

"Loki?" Darcy asked, sounding, finally, a bit more fearful and forgetting momentarily that I was in no position to answer her. The yelling was coming even closer, and I was starting to hear screams.

The door to our cage was thrown open and two of Laufey's goombas dove in and slammed it shut, backing away and drawing their guns to aim at the door. They looked extremely nervous.

I didn't blame them. I wouldn't want to see what was coming after them either.

Footsteps pounded from outside our prison and then someone's fist pounded on the door itself.

"Break it down!" came the cold command. The door shook as something struck it hard. Probably someone's shoulder or foot.

Again.

Again.

Harder. Five tries and the door splintered before its hinges simply gave way. One last kick and then it was down.

The two guards never had a chance. They both went down, double-tapped to the head –four neat, concise shots. Darcy and I whipped our heads around to look at the open door.

Standing just inside, backed and surrounded by tall, burly forms, hair pulled back into a tight braid, dressed to kill and carrying enough weapons to start her own armory, was Frigga d'Asgard.

_Mom._

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**A/N: Like Frigga stayed home in the kitchen. Pffff.**

**Next Chapter: Ohana means family. And family means that no one gets left behind.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: ****"I have an army." –Loki, **_**Avengers**_

**A/N: So sorry for the late update. The whole week kind of got away from me. **

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**Chapter 16:** **Fordi vikinger og alt **

Alternatively titled: In which The Family takes "personal" to a whole new level.

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"Is anyone else in here?" my mother asked Darcy. Darcy shook her head quickly, now looking well-and-truly terrified. I started to open my mouth to tell her that she really needed to get that malfunctioning fear gland checked out, but had to stop and choke back a moan when the staples caught.

Mom looked at me then and shrieked. That's the only word for it. She shrieked and she darted across the room, dropping her (loaded, Mom, _geez_) gun and gathering me up into her arms.

"Loki," she crooned. "Oh, my baby, what did they do to you?"

I tried to glare at her (I thought it was pretty obvious what they had done to me), but since my eyes were still wide from the sight of my mother gunning down mobsters in cold blood (I'd called this woman _Mommy_), I doubt it was a very effective glare.

"Oh my God," she was crying, "my baby…"

Darcy stared at me, then at my mother, then at me again. She finally managed to sputter out, "Is this your _mom_?"

I had no sympathy. It was her own fault for stalking me.

Mom was saying, "We'll get you to a doctor soon, baby, I promise. Just give me a minute to get your father." She jumped up quickly, ignoring Darcy completely, which wasn't like Frigga at all, and ran out of the room.

"Here! Odin, I found them!"

A few seconds later, my father strode in the door, followed by my mother stomping viciously in his wake. I tried to sit up and pretty much failed. Darcy propped me up and I looked up at my parents while blinking hard and trying not to do something stupid and pathetic like burst into relieved tears.

"Loki," Odin breathed, face drawn tight. He stepped to the side suddenly and then my brother was there, head and shoulders above them both, and frantically searching the room with his eyes. The second he saw me, he bellowed my name and slid around our parents to my side, dropping to his knees and unceremoniously picking me up and placing me on his lap.

I think this is probably where –exhausted, in pain, but finally safe– I started crying. I tried not to let Darcy see, but I don't think she cared anyway.

My mom took my father's arm and said something that I didn't catch, gesturing to me, and then Odin turned back to face me and stepped closer to peer at my face.

It was strange. Everything seemed to become very clear suddenly. For the first time in years, I felt like my dad actually saw me. Loki. Not the son who refused to be what he told me to be. Not the brat who thought he knew better and fought and argued with him over every little thing. Not the ungrateful, stubborn, annoying know-it-all, self-righteous, independent son who left the Family. Just me. Just Loki, his son, his kid, huddled in my big brother's arms with tears on my face and my mouth stapled shut.

I'd never really doubted that my father cared about me. I knew, logically, that he only bombarded me with expectations and overprotective orders because he cared about me and wanted me to be safe. But it had been years and years since I had been comforted by Odin, since he had told me that he loved me. I had been pulling away for a long time, and he hadn't exactly taken trouble to repair our relationship.

Besides bringing me to heel, Odin's idea of father-son bonding was showing me the best place to hit someone so that they would be totally incapacitated. We weren't a touchy-feely pair, to say the least.

Seeing my father so stricken at the damage that had been done to me was oddly gratifying. Here was tangible proof that he cared about me, that he didn't like seeing me hurt. It was strange and probably a bit sick, but I was glad he was seeing it.

I could have done without the crying and otherwise completely pathetic parts of the scenario, but beggars can't be choosers, I suppose.

"Loki," Odin said again, sounding choked. I grunted, reaching up to wipe the tears away from my eyes. My father's lips thinned and he turned to my mother. "Can you get the girl?" he asked her.

Mom looked at Darcy and forced a smile. "Yes, of course," she said, coming over to reach a hand down to Darcy. "Come on, sweetie, let's get you out of here."

"Loki?" Darcy asked, sounding uncertain and worried. I waved a hand at her and she leaned forward to take it. I squeezed and nodded at my mother. She gave me a shaky smile and said, "You'll be right behind me, right?"

I nodded carefully and gestured to Thor, who still hadn't let me go. She laughed a little and stood up. "Okay then." She took my mother's hand. "Where are we going?"

"Yggdrasil," my mom said gently. "Our home."

Darcy side-eyed me. "Your house has a name?" she faux-whispered. I rolled my eyes.

When they were gone, Thor shifted a little and said, "Dad, can you take Loki? I need to stand up and he's a bit heavier than he looks."

Odin startled and then came forward hesitantly. "Oh. Of course, yes." He reached down slowly and Thor shoved me upwards and I groaned and then just like that I was cradled in my father's arms for the first time in nearly ten years.

He held me awkwardly, as though he was afraid to squeeze too hard in case I broke, but also as if he was worried that he would drop me. But when Thor stood up and reached for me, Odin pulled me a little bit closer and said, "No, I have him. Cover us."

My brother didn't smirk, because this was a very serious matter, but he did wink at me behind our father's back. I rolled my eyes at him too.

"Call Idunn," Dad ordered over his shoulder. "We'll need her at the house."

Oh right. I needed a doctor. And because going to the hospital is for plebeians and also for people who _aren't_ under investigation from the FBI, Aunt Idunn was going to be making a house call.

I let my head slump against my father's shoulder and was rewarded by a tentative pat to my head.

I didn't smile, obviously, but I closed my eyes and let my dad carry me out to the car.

000

To the surprise of absolutely no one, I'm sure, my patience and calm lasted exactly until we entered the front door of Yggdrasil and the entire Family descended upon us _en masse._

"Allfather! Odin!"

"What's up with the kid?"

"Is he okay?"

"Norns preserve, are those _staples_?"

I pressed back against Dad and screwed my eyes shut tight, breathing hard and fast and probably whimpering like a kicked puppy.

(Tony, if you ever mention this again, I will stick a letter opener into your throat.)

"Alright, back off, all of you!" Odin growled. "He'll be fine. Where's Idunn?"

"On her way, boss," Munin pushed through the crowd and arrived at Odin's side, followed by Hugin. I opened my eyes to find the Ravens staring down at me sorrowfully. "Loki," Munin said, hesitantly reaching out to touch my arm, "are you…? We are so sorry," he finished. Hugin nodded earnestly, eyes dark with worry.

I rolled my eyes again. As my only form of communication currently, it wasn't bad. I am a very expressive eye-roller. Munin managed a grin.

"Okay, okay." He looked at my father and said, "We've cleared the kitchen for you, boss."

I jerked and groaned.

"Loki?" Dad's face peered down at me in concern. "What's wrong?"

I glared at him. He stared down at me, confused, and then Thor started chuckling.

"Oh no," he teased, "the kitchen table, right?"

I growled as best I could and my dad's face cleared and he started to smirk.

"You're going to have to just deal with it for now, kiddo," he said. "We don't really have anywhere else to put you."

Have I mentioned, Tony, that I hate doing mob business on the kitchen table?

And now I _was_ mob business. Could this get any worse?

"Loki!"

Oh Norns, I'd forgotten about Jane Foster.

"Loki!" She and Darcy were at my side and I had the indescribable privilege of languishing in my father's arms in front of my brother's maybe-girlfriend and my… whatever Darcy was to me.

Kill me, I begged the universe. It would be the merciful thing to do.

Since the universe is not now, and never has been merciful, I was still breathing when my father laid me gently upon our thick mahogany kitchen table. Aunt Idunn bustled over and clucked unhappily over my lips.

"Loki, darling," she soothed. "You poor thing. What's the worst damage?" I tried to convey my inability to answer through glares and a huff before I realized she had directed her question to Darcy.

"He got kicked in the stomach a lot," she said worriedly, hovering near my head. "Internal bleeding is a problem, right? He might have that. His hand might be broken, and his knee is probably in bad shape. And then there's his…" she swallowed, "his mouth."

"Yes, I see," Idunn murmured gently. "Well, let's start with the abdomen and work from there." She gestured for Thor. "Be a dear, Thor, and help your brother get his shirt off?"

Thor's hands were incredibly gentle as he sat me up and eased my t-shirt over my head. It still hurt like hell. I bit back a whimper and he soothed me back down onto my back. Idunn's hands were skimming over my abdomen and stomach, tsking over the bruises and missing skin from the cheese grater. She gave me a sympathetic smile and said, "This might hurt for a moment, dear." And then she pressed down.

It hurt, but it wasn't blinding. She was smiling wider as she eased up. "I don't think you're bleeding inside," she said, actually directing her words to my parents, who were hovering over her shoulder. She winked at me and I managed to soften my eyes in an approximation of a thankful smile.

"Alright now, let's see your hand."

Her fingers were gentle as they stroked across mine, delicately examining the bruised skin. I held my breath through the worst of the pain.

"I'm afraid your hand is probably broken, Loki, dear," she said softly. "But nothing a cast and a few weeks won't fix. The breaks are clean. Painful, but not maiming. You'll be back to your magic tricks in no time."

My father grunted in acknowledgement and my mother elbowed him in the side. I rolled my eyes yet again and Idunn grinned at me with her back to my parents.

"Now, your knee…"

The examination went on, each part of my aching body being diagnosed and treated with the same gentle hands and soft litany of Aunt Idunn's commentary. Darcy and Jane Foster conversed in the background and I faded in and out of awareness, hurting all over and yet strangely comfortable resting atop the kitchen table surrounded by people who were all staring at me. It was a new feeling for me.

"Alright, dear," Idunn said finally. "I think that's all I can do, really. Looks like you'll live." She smiled kindly at me and I gave her a pathetic grunt. Her smile faded and she reached out to gently touch the staples holding my lips shut.

"Odin," she said, "I think we might need a hospital for this."

"Why?" Odin said, frowning. "What's wrong with here?"

She sighed. "These staples… the face is delicate to work with. Special equipment might be needed to remove the staples without tearing Loki's lips more than they already are. He needs surgery, really."

"And you can't do it here?" Odin pressed. Idunn sighed in frustration.

"I could, I suppose, but I'd need equipment that I don't have here, not to mention some anesthetic. I refuse to do any sort of surgery at all without at least localized anesthetic, preferably a total dose. Loki's been through enough pain in the past few days."

My dad looked down at me and nodded slowly. "Make a list," he said. "I'll send Fandral and Sif."

000

The whole surgery passed in a haze for me. I remember moaning and thrashing as the anesthetic took hold, terrified of being unconscious. I hadn't had surgery since I was fifteen and had my wisdom teeth removed. I had fought the anesthesia then too, frightened of the loss of control and the prospect of a stranger cutting into my mouth. That time, my mother had soothed me with one hand on my head and the other wrapped tightly in both of mine.

This time my father, less gentle but no less sincere, had one hand on my head grasping my hair in a loose grip and the other resting carefully on my jaw.

"Shh, Loki," he said. "Shhh…"

Thor's voice floated in from my left. "Settle down, little brother," it said.

"Go to sleep, dear," my mother urged. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

And the rest of it, I don't remember obviously, because that was when I let go and went under.

I came up hours later, groggy and with a headache like I'd gotten slammed with a hammer. My mouth was throbbing, but when I tentatively parted my lips, they separated easily. I ran my tongue over the bottom one for a moment and groaned aloud in relief.

"He's awake!"

I was surrounded instantly, parents on one side, brother and girls on the other. Behind them, half the Family hovered with more concern than I really had ever expected. Aunt Idunn pushed through the crowd, shoving Munin out of her way and pausing over me.

"Loki?" she smiled down at me. "Everything came out alright. Here," she held out a glass of water and steadied a straw for me to sip. "I bet you're parched," she said. I nodded slowly, wincing at the headache. Anesthetic _really_ wasn't my friend.

"Loki?" Thor asked anxiously, bending over me. "Are you okay? Can you say something?"

I stared up at my family and sighed heavily. "Get," I started, and then coughed, throat dry and sore. After another sip of water I tried again. "Get me off of the kitchen table," I said.

Hugin roared with laughter from behind my father and everyone seemed to relax. Hands lifted me slowly, sitting me up with care and then helping me to swivel so that my feet were hanging off the side of the table. I rested a moment then, leaning on Thor's ready shoulder and trying not to gasp for breath. It would only sting my lips.

"Loki?" my brother said, nudging my head with his own.

"Okay," I said, "next."

They lifted me off of the table, setting me down on my feet as gently as if I were a toddler instead of a twenty year old man. I wavered for a second, clutching tightly at Thor's arm and wishing everyone weren't staring at me like I was taking my first steps. If anyone of them was videoing this, I was going to have _so_ much damage control to do.

My father's hands appeared in my field of vision and offered themselves to mine. I reached out and grasped them and let him pull me forward. He and Thor settled me into a chair pulled out from the table and stepped back to let the Family beam at me. Dad's hand landed softly on my head and pulled lightly at my hair. I shuddered and he withdrew as if burned. I winced again –that hadn't been my intention. I had just been reminded suddenly of Laufey touching my head and I had wanted to shake off the memory.

His hand returned cautiously and this time I kept myself still deliberately as he petted my hair. Mom watched me carefully, eyes anxiously searching my face.

"Loki," my dad said, "what –"

"Darcy," I interrupted. "Where's Darcy?"

She was at my side instantly. "Loki?" she said. "I'm fine," she anticipated my next question. "But you…" Her eyes were wide and worried. She licked her lips and cut herself off, seemingly more frightened now, in the safety of Yggdrasil, than she had been in the less-than-welcoming arms of Laufey Jotunr.

Behind her, Sif was speaking quietly into Jane Foster's ear. Funny, I'd never thought of Sif as being reassuring, but apparently she was perfectly capable of being sweet when she wanted to. I'd have to remind her of that the next time she was kicking my –

"–ur family is crazy," Darcy was saying when I tuned back in. "I mean it, Loki, what the heck is going on here?"

I gave her a sardonic look and said dryly, "They're the mob, Darcy. What do you expect?"

"Uh, maybe a little more _Godfather_ and a little less _Sons of Anarchy_? Seriously, I have never seen this many guns in my life. And I grew up on the south side."

I shrugged. "So they're a little… enthusiastic." I yawned and inhaled sharply. "What time is it?"

Thor answered me, "Twenty-five minutes past eight. You've been under for about five hours."

Five hours, I mused. They had rescued us just before two then. No telling where Laufey was now. I yawned again and winced as my lips stretched. "Um," I said. My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. "Could someone maybe get me a mirror?"

Darcy's eyes became very soft. Fandral left the room and came back in a few seconds with a hand mirror from the hall bathroom. Thor took it from him and crouched down in front of me to hold it up for me.

"It's not bad, little brother," he said. "Really."

"Let me see," I said.

He was right. It wasn't bad. The pain was pretty well dulled by the extra-strength pain killers I had in my system. I had a black eye, but that was to be expected. My jaw had a nice dark blue shade to it. My lips were red and puffy, but I knew that would go away. Swelling wasn't permanent.

But the swelling was hiding what I was really looking for. I turned my head a little and spotted it. At the corners of my mouth, where the swelling wasn't as bad, the angry red holes stood out clearly. Over time they would heal completely, fading away until the only thing left were thin, white –

"Oh yeah," I said aloud. "That's gonna scar."

Thor's face creased into a relieved smile and I rolled my eyes.

"What?" I snarked. "Did you think I was going to be upset that I'm not pretty anymore?"

"The thought crossed my mind," Thor replied solemnly. I scowled.

"Besides," Darcy piped in casually, "I wouldn't go so far as to say you aren't pretty anymore."

There was a brief silence.

Thor turned to look at me with a very interested tilt to his eyebrow. I groaned.

"I knew it!" Hugin crowed. Munin laughed out loud, guffawing and clapping his brother on the shoulder. Both of them were staring at me like proud uncles, as though I had done something impressive.

"Not your girlfriend, my sculpted backside," Fandral retorted to Volstagg. Apparently Thor had been gossiping about me again.

Darcy gave me a politely questioning look. I rolled my eyes.

"Can we please focus here?" my dad interrupted. "We need to deal with Laufey."

"Yes," Thor said, standing up straight and glowering. My brother rarely becomes truly angry, but when he does, it's thunderous. His rages are like storms.

A storm was brewing now. If there was one thing that would set off Thor's fury, it was someone harming his family.

I was a bit more than harmed at this point. Scarred, more like.

"Wait," I said.

"Let's go!" that was Fandral. "We can find him easily. We'll go in fast and he'll never expect it. Not after we just rescued these two. He'll think we're regrouping and we'll surprise him."

Sif's voice was hard and cold. "He can't hide."

"Wait," I tried again.

My father was nodding. "I want everyone on high alert. Someone will have to stay here to watch the house and make sure no one attacks here. Thor, I want you and the Warriors to get on weapons distribution. Make sure everyone is armed. Frigga," he turned to my mother, "are you coming with us or staying with Loki and the girls?"

"Uh," I said.

"I'm coming with you," my mother, my cool, collected, picture-of-serenity mother, pulled her gun out of the waistband of her pants and checked the barrel. "I want that maggot's head on a spike."

"Can we talk about this?" I said urgently. Darcy's eyes were so big I thought they might fall out of her head. Jane Foster was staring at Thor contemplatively.

"Wait," I said yet again. I was ignored yet again as more and more Family members began bustling through the kitchen, receiving orders and offering suggestions.

"I'll get the Vanirs on the phone. They owe us a favor."

"Wait –"

"I can start searching Laufey's places around town."

"Wait –"

"I can make a bomb."

"_Wait!_"

Everything stopped.

I was on my feet, somehow, fists clenched at my sides. I stared directly into my father's face and said, "This isn't the way."

He rolled his eyes hard. "Loki, this is not the time for a discussion on the Life and how we choose to conduct our business. I don't need moralizations and homilies here. This is what we have always done. You have no part of it, so just sit down and let us take care of it." He turned away to continue giving orders.

I lifted my chin and said, "No."

I swear someone gasped.

Odin turned around again, slowly, as though he couldn't believe his ears. "No?" he repeated incredulously. "Excuse me?"

I stood my ground. "No," I said. "That isn't what I meant. I meant that if we do this; if you fly in there with guns blazing and killing everyone in sight, then some of you are going to die. That's what a mob war means. It means that they die, and it means that we die too. It means," I took a deep breath. "It means that _Family _is going to get hurt. And that… I don't want that to happen."

"Loki," Munin stepped forward. "We are here of our own free will. Any of us would die for you, and –"

"But you don't have to," I interrupted, exasperated. Why did everything have to be so black and white with them? Honestly, it was like talking to the cops.

"Listen," I tried again. "If you do this, there's going to be a mob war. Sure, Laufey may die, but his men will just go after us again and again. Dad," I said, "what about Mom? You think they'll just leave it alone after this? You think they won't attack Yggdrasil? You'll never sleep again. You'll always be worrying about everyone. What are you going to do? Gather up the entire Family and house them in the spare bedrooms?"

Odin glowered. "Do you have a point here, or are you just rambling?" he growled. I brightened. A plan! I made plans all the time. Plans were what I was good at.

"Go small," I said. "Send in a few people –sneaky people. They'll get Laufey and Helblindi and gather some evidence for the police –"

"Police?" my father said it like a dirty word. I rolled my eyes.

"Look, I know we don't exactly have a friendly history with the cops, but think of it like this. If we take out Laufey and Helblindi and leave an anonymous tip for the police, with evidence displayed so obviously that even they can't screw up an arrest, then we've taken out the entire Jotunr Family, and there won't be any retaliation because there won't be enough of them left on the streets to mount an assault."

The wheels began turning in the Allfather's head.

I pressed my advantage. "We can make it fast. Cut off the head, the snake dies. Come on, Dad. Let me do this."

That got me a heavy-browed glare. I held firm. "Yeah, Dad, I said me. You know I can do it. Besides, I'm the one who deserves revenge, don't I?"

He wavered. Frigga sensed it and gasped indignantly. Thor stifled a grin. I scented my victory and inwardly cheered.

"_Homilies_, Dad? Me? Really?"

"What do you need?" my father gave in with a gruff question. I smirked.

"Some sneaky people. And a gun."

And then my dad was smirking back at me and I started to wonder if I had really won anything at all.

"Oh," my father said smugly. "I think I know just the people."

He pulled out his phone and made a call. "Get in here," he barked.

"Uh, Dad," I said. "Who is –"

The kitchen door swung open and Professor Howlett walked in, followed by the absolute last person I had ever expected to see.

"Uh, hi," Phil Coulson said sheepishly. "How you doing, Loki? Sorry about the whole kidnapping thing. We kind of dropped the ball with that one."

* * *

**A/N: I'm terribly sorry to have to do this, but in the interest of presenting the story in the best way possible, I will be editing the final two chapters for as long as necessary, which may mean that it will take a couple of weeks longer than usual for the update. Thank you for your patience.**

**Additional, No-Longer-A-Spoiler Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Godfather**_** or **_**Sons of Anarchy**_**. I also have never seen either, but I'm guessing that SoA is a little more "guns-blazing" than **_**Godfather**_**.**

**Next Chapter: If you want something done right, you've gotta do it yourself.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: ****"It's good to have you back. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to destroy Jotunheim!" –Loki, **_**Thor**_

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. **

**Thank you to all reviewers so far, particularly ninepen for inciting such delightfully thought-provoking conversations and xNekoxBlazex for always being excited for new chapters.**

* * *

**Chapter 17:** **Uansett, til alle som har oversatt alle disse **

Alternatively titled: In which Loki saves the day, gets the girl, and passes his math finals like a boss.

* * *

What the heck. What in the ever-loving name of the Norns was this?

"Father," I said –very calmly, I think, "why is Phil Coulson in our kitchen?"

"Because he's a member of S.H.I.E.L.D.," my father replied cheerfully.

"I know that. What I don't know is what that has to do with the reason he is in our kitchen with my American History professor while we're talking about the Family Business."

"Phil and Logan are Family," my dad said calmly. My world veered sharply off its axis and realigned itself like a subway train jerking on a track.

"What?" I stared at Phil who gave me a dorky little wave. "Since when? I don't remember them."

"Since you decided you were going to go off to college and live on your own, son," Odin said. "I brought them in to look after you over at the university."

Was he serious? Was he actually serious? Had he really gotten Howlett hired as a professor at Roger's in order to keep an eye on me? Would my father go that far, planting people around me to –

Who was I kidding? Of course he would.

"Oh my god," I said.

"Loki," my dad tried.

"Oh my _god,"_ I said.

"I was worried," he said. I knew he was only admitting it out loud because he didn't want me to cause a scene right this very minute, but I let it go anyway. For the moment.

"I guess that explains why you wanted me to join S.H.I.E.L.D.," I said aloud in Phil's direction. "Although, I can't figure out why you'd even join them in the first place if you were just there to keep an eye on me?"

"Um," Phil said, and then he coughed apologetically.

_You have got to be kidding me…_

"_Seriously_? _All_ of them are Family? The whole club?"

"Yeah," Professor Howlett –Logan– grunted. I processed that and then blinked in horror.

"Even _Clint_?"

"Clint Barton is the one who has been responsible for making sure you stay alive!" my father snapped. "And it has been at great personal cost to himself. He's been regularly clearing out dangerous entities from the university, your apartment building, and even that little convenience store you like to buy ice cream from at ten o'clock at night, for God only knows what reason."

I ignored this jab at my self-preservation skills and said, "Well, where was he yesterday, then? Huh? Where were any of them, if they're supposed to be watching over me? Darcy was in danger!"

"Uh? Not just Darcy?" the lady in question pointed out from behind me. I waved this away with one hand and glared at Phil. He winced.

"Yeah, that's our bad. I know, I know that's a lame thing to say, but it's all I've got. We screwed up. We thought you guys would be safe for a few hours. I –" he blushed. "I wanted you to have some privacy."

I stopped myself from saying what I had been about to sputter and blinked. Privacy? He'd been trying to give me time alone with Darcy. Huh. Maybe Phil wasn't so bad after all.

"I… appreciate that, Phil," I said. "A lot, actually."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but then you got kidnapped," he pointed out. "So sorry, kid, but we're not letting you out of our sight for so much as a minute after this."

"Ugh," I said, with feeling.

Thor laughed, appearing from the basement with an armful of guns and boxes of shells. Jane Foster squeaked a little and grabbed Darcy, who hissed, probably because of the fingernails now digging into her arm.

"Oh," Thor said, sheepishly. "Sorry, Jane, Darcy. I, um. You two probably don't want to be seeing this."

"N-no," Jane Foster said faintly. "It's… you should. Um. I guess this is… normal for you?"

"Well," Thor said, "not exactly. Loki doesn't get kidnapped all that often, actually."

"Twice," I said long-sufferingly. "It's only been twice."

"That's statistically more often than basically any other person ever," my brother said back.

Sometimes, Thor's sensible side rears its head and it's always freaking inconvenient when it does.

"Can we please focus here?" my father said. "Miss Lewis, Miss Foster, perhaps you should step into the living room while we finish our business?"

"Oh, no way, not a chance," Darcy folded her arms. "I'm not going anywhere. These goons kidnapped me too, remember? I want in."

"No!"

"Darcy, don't you think –"

"Out of the question –"

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?"

I was loudest, which is how you get the Family to shut up and listen to you, so I got to finish. Glaring at Darcy, I stomped forward and stared down at her. Folding my arms to mirror her stance, I said, "There's no way in hell."

Her eyes rolled expressively. "Geez, Loki, I meant I wanted in on the _plan_. I'm not stupid, I know there's no way you'd let me come on the actual raid-thingy itself. And I wouldn't want to. Hello! Not an idiot, not interested in dying. It's just that…" she hesitated for a moment and then reached out to pinch my t-shirt into one hand and pull me a little bit closer. "I also am interested in _you _not dying, and I'd like to know what's going to happen so I can be sure of that."

I was blushing, probably. Fandral looked _delighted_. Sif was making a kissy face at me behind Darcy's back, which was just uncomfortable, frankly.

"Uh, okay, then whatever," I stammered like a moron. Thor honest-to-Norns _giggled._

"Fine. Clearly I am not in charge of this operation anymore," Odin grumbled.

That's right, Tony. My father, the big bad mob boss, is actually an eight-year old who pouts when he doesn't get his way. Alert the presses.

Actually, please don't. Really. You seriously can't, we have a contract.

"That's right," I smirked, because I am not above sticking my tongue out at my dad when I get my way. "So let's go."

The front door burst open and footsteps pounded through the foyer on the way to the kitchen. "Phil! PHIL?"

Clint Barton skidded to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen, breathing hard as though he had run for miles. "Coulson!" he barked. "Where is he?"

I stuck my head out from behind Thor, who had flung himself forward to get between me and Darcy and the doorway. "Uh, hi," I said quietly.

Barton looked at me and the tension in his shoulders visibly rolled off and away. He sagged against the door frame. "You're okay." He scrubbed at his face with his hands and nodded. "You're okay," he repeated.

"Um, yes," I said awkwardly, not sure how to react to a Clint Barton who had obviously been very concerned about my health.

"Good." And then his eyes narrowed and he straightened up, coming into the kitchen to point his finger at me. "What were you thinking?"

"Me?" I sputtered. "I was thinking that I was having coffee. If someone had thought to, oh, I don't know, _tell _me that I was in danger, maybe I wouldn't have gone around like nothing was wrong."

"I did tell you," my father growled. "And you stormed out like a child."

"You _never _said that I was the target," I seethed. "And I am _not _a child. You have to start trusting me, Dad. I need you to realize that I can handle some things, but not others. I can't _do _all or nothing. There have to be shades of grey here, Dad, that's just who I am."

My mom came forward to wrap me into a tight hug. "Of course, sweetheart," she crooned. "Of course."

I was still looking to Dad. He nodded slowly, begrudgingly, but I felt an enormous weight lift off of my shoulders that I hadn't even realized was there.

"Thank you," I breathed.

"Nice. Touching family moment aside," Clint butted in, "what the heck are we doing about Laufey?"

I pulled away from my mother and faced my tiny army. "I," I said dramatically, "have a plan."

000

"This is a stupid plan," Clint hissed at me. I rolled my eyes.

"Would you shut up?"

"This is never going to work."

"It totally is. Now be quiet." He grumbled, but he was quiet, and I went back to carefully jimmying open the warehouse lock. The street was empty at five o'clock on a Friday morning, but I didn't want to take chances that someone might notice a break-in at the abandoned warehouse.

Unlike the d'Asgard operation, the Jotunr Family didn't have a sprawling mansion and a dozen cover identities for every member. They had one cover company that Laufey ran, and he had his own personal house, but the rest of the goombas were stuck with old warehouses to run the operation.

d'Asgard's were a classier breed of mobster, apparently.

The lock turned over. "In," I announced quietly. "Go."

Clint, Phil, Logan, Thor, and Sif and the Warriors Three slipped past me and into the warehouse. I turned around to face the rest of the S.H.I.E.L.D. group that was crowded around.

"You guys… wait here," I said awkwardly. One of them saluted me and I turned around and fled.

"Alright, now what?" Sif asked.

"Now," I said, "we collect Laufey and Helblindi. And evidence. Hogun, I want you and Phil –"

"No," Phil interrupted. I bit back a snarl.

"_What_?"

"I told you, I'm not letting you out of my sight. Send someone else with Hogun."

"You've gotta be kidding me," I glared. "Fine, Fandral and Hogun, get the evidence from the office. I need bank records, phones, emails. And then go looking for the stuff itself. Laufey's got drugs right?"

Fandral nodded. "And coffee beans."

"Seriously? What, are they made of solid gold? Why the heck are they smuggling coffee beans?"

Hogun shrugged. "They're special coffee beans."

"Oh my god, I don't care anymore, just get the stuff the cops will need for an arrest."

They nodded and faded into shadows. I turned to the rest of my crew and said, "We're getting Laufey."

The plan was pretty simple, honestly.

We went in quietly, no big flashy fighting, as few guns as possible. The less people who ended up dead, the better. The last thing we needed was a mob war. We would gather evidence that was so blatant it would be impossible for a jury not to convict, and Laufey would be imprisoned for life. No more threat to me, no more threat to the Family.

Hey presto.

We crept through the warehouse as quietly as possible. There hadn't been any guards so far, but that only meant that I had timed our break in properly –shift change in the goombas. More would be here any moment.

And then there they were, turning the corner and stopping short in surprise at the sight of us.

"What!" one of them got out before Clint shot him in the throat. With an arrow. He had a bow and arrows. Why did he have a _bow and arrows_?

"Are you kidding me?" I complained. Sif had dispatched the second goomba with a silenced gunshot to the head.

Clint ignored me. "More on the way," he said shortly. "Security cameras probably know we're here."

"Come on," I said. "I've got a math test in five hours. Let's get this done."

Thor shadowed me tightly, and Phil him as we crept down the hallway. Logan was in front of me, which he had insisted on and I hadn't quite known how to dispute. It's one thing to give orders to your friends, and something else entirely to give them to someone who had been your history teacher 24 hours ago.

Laufey's office was on the top floor, which made sense, and he was there, which didn't. But Fandral's intelligence was rarely wrong, and if he said Laufey and Helblindi were here, then they were here. Maybe they were trying to regroup after my Family had stormed their last base.

Clint gave the order and S.H.I.E.L.D. came in to back us up as the next wave of men appeared. For a while, there was a lot of shooting. My crew slipped through as best we could.

We took out three more sets of guards, as quietly as we could, on the way up. I shot one and then Thor had screwed up his mouth and told me to let the others take care of killing people from now on. I let him. I hadn't killed anyone yet in my life, and if I could get out of this without it, I'd take that gladly.

Sometimes, Tony, it's okay to let big brother protect you.

Logan kicked open the door to Laufey's office and we poured in. I was flanked by Phil and Clint and surrounded by people bigger than me, but I saw the look of utter fury on Helblindi's face just before Logan slammed into him and it felt _sweet_.

"Well, what is this?" Laufey said, oily smooth and ugh, smiling again. I pushed to the front and stared him down. He stared back, cold eyes the only thing betraying his anger. I smirked at him.

"I'm back," I said needlessly.

"I can see that." He glared at me disdainfully. "Well, you were wrong, little Liesmith. They came for you after all."

"Yeah," I said. "My daddy loves me after all. Do you want a fruit basket or something?"

"What exactly do you think to accomplish here? You won't kill me. You don't have the stomach for it."

I shrugged. "Maybe not. But I've got enough evidence against you to send you to jail for the rest of your life, and as long as you're in there instead of causing trouble for me out here, I don't care what happens to you."

He sneered. "I can take your father down with me."

I shook my head smugly. "I don't think so. Why do you think we're here? If mobsters just exchanged damaging secrets and potential vulnerabilities every time they meet, we wouldn't need to break in and find the load of drugs and freaking _coffee beans_ you have stashed in here. No, you've got nothing, Laufey. And I win."

Helblindi snarled and Logan slugged him in the head. Laufey glared.

"You're a snotty brat," he said.

I grinned. "Like I haven't heard that one before."

Fandral appeared in the doorway behind me. "Got it?" I asked without looking away from Laufey.

"Yeah," Fandral said, grinning triumphantly. "We've got it. And we've got a roller."

Someone was willing to testify against Laufey and Helblindi in exchange for not being killed. Excellent.

"And us?"

"Security cameras wiped, eyewitnesses done away with, alibi's in place," Hogun reported.

"Then let's go," I said.

We left the warehouse packaged up nicely, with Laufey and Helblindi tied to poles with sticky notes on their foreheads and duct tape in their mouths. The response time for the police wasn't _too_ bad in this neighborhood –they wouldn't get free for a while.

"How do you plan to do this, exactly?" Thor asked. "I mean, are you just going to leave an anonymous tip?"

"Yes," I said.

He raised an eyebrow. "How do you know they'll take it seriously?"

I looked at him and smirked, reaching into my coat pocket and producing a scrap of paper with a phone number printed in the faint ink from the ballpoint pen that resides on my countertop next to my apartment landline.

Sif and the Warriors Three gathered around and Clint and Phil went off to settle the S.H.I.E.L.D. group. Logan crossed his arms and watched as I dialed a number and waited for the pick-up with a smug smile.

"Wha-?"

Oops, it was like, 7 AM, right. Oh well.

"Detective Summers!" I chirped. "Got a pick-up for you. Warehouse district. You can't miss it: it's the old warehouse with all the lights on. Laufey Jotunr has a smuggled shipment and has agreed to cooperate. You're welcome."

"Who is this? How did you get this number? What –"

I hung up and tossed the disposable cell-phone into the garbage bag Sif was holding out for me and then she bundled it up and buried it in a nearby dumpster.

Thor was looking at me sideways. "What?" I shrugged. "He told me to call if I thought of anything useful."

My brother was shaking his head, but then he was laughing, and then the Warriors Three joined in, and Sif snorted and rolled her eyes. Phil was giggling and Clint was smirking. Logan didn't smile or anything, but that was pretty much normal for him.

I sighed happily.

"Okay, let's go home so I can get some sleep before this bloody math test," I said.

000

My parents jumped us as soon as we got through the door. The Family crowded around, the Ravens at the front.

"How did it go? Did it work?"

"Hey, kid, I'm on the phone with a contact at the police station –"

"Oh, honey, I never should have let your father agree to let you go by yourself…"

"Mom! Mom, I'm fine. We're all fine. It… it worked."

"It _did_?"

"Thanks, Dad," I said sarcastically, "I'm glad you had so much faith in me."

He rolled his eyes. "Can we please focus here?" He stared at me uncertainly, like he didn't know what to do. "You got Laufey?"

I relaxed and grinned. "Yeah, Dad. We got him."

He sighed and dropped a hand on top of my head. The Family cheered. Thor half-hugged me and laughed a big belly-laugh. I peered up from under my bangs and looked at my father.

Odin looked down at me solemnly for a moment and then his face creased into a smile. "Good job, Loki," he said.

Warmth flooded through me and I felt my face turn bright red. Who knew that two words from my dad could turn me into goo inside?

"Thanks," I said, like someone who wasn't goo inside.

Darcy burst through the crowd then and pounced on me.

"Did it work? Are you all okay? How did it go? Did you get Laufey?"

"Hold on!" I backed up into Thor, who grunted when I stepped on his toe. "I'll tell you about it, Darcy, just let me get through the door!"

Jane Foster cleared her throat gently and took Thor by the arm. "We need to talk," she said. Thor shot me an alarmed look, but followed her meekly into the kitchen.

I was left with Darcy, with the whole Family looking on.

She looked determined.

"So?" she said.

I looked back at her. "We did it," I said. She exhaled and I realized she'd been holding her breath.

"Did you kill anyone?" she asked next, and I froze. Tried a glance at Dad for help and got an elaborate shrug and eye roll up to the ceiling in response. Thanks Dad. Big help there.

I took a deep breath. "No," I said. "But."

She waited.

"This… this is it, Darcy. This is my life. This is my family. And sometimes… often… most of the time, they do bad stuff. They're good people, but they do bad stuff, regularly, and they don't apologize. This is what it means to be Family. Just because I'm not the usual suspect doesn't mean I'm not in the game."

I paused and realized that Darcy was squinting at me. "What?" I said testily.

"Did you just make a movie reference pun?"

I mentally ran over what I had just said and cursed. "Uhhh," I said.

"I _knew_ it!" she laughed triumphantly. "I _knew _you were secretly an enormous nerd!"

"Secretly?" Fandral whispered loudly to Volstagg, who snorted. I rolled my eyes at them, but Darcy was still laughing and I was being serious, so I reached out and grabbed her hand. She stopped laughing.

"I'm serious," I said, just in case she couldn't tell. "This is… this is dangerous, Darcy. You said it yourself: my family is mob. And uh, I _have_ been kidnapped twice now. By different people. This whole thing," I waved a hand around to encapsulate Laufey, the kidnapping, the raid, and the kitchen table surrounded by wide-eyed mobsters who were staring at us like we were their favorite soap opera, "it's not really an isolated incident."

She snorted. "Next you'll be telling me that you secretly rob banks in your spare time."

"Um," I said, glancing to the side. My dad was smirking.

Darcy laughed again, and wow, I could listen to that always, I think. "Seriously? I thought you'd gone straight, college-boy."

"It was for a good reason," I gritted out. She nodded seriously.

"I believe you." She started playing with my fingers, twisting my hands between hers. I shook them gently.

"It's dangerous," I repeated. "And I can't promise that I'm never going to have to deal with the Life. That's kind of why they call it The Life."

"Loki," Darcy said. I pushed on, feeling my heart start beating faster and suddenly feeling like I might not manage to get all of this out if I didn't do it now.

"And, this might be obvious, but I'm kind of neurotic. I don't like crowds. And I don't handle surprises very well. And I almost stabbed somebody on the bus the other day. Also, as you may have noticed, the Family follows me around everywhere because my Dad doesn't know how to do personal space and my brother sometimes breaks into my apartment and leaves money on my kitchen table for God only knows what reason."

"Loki…"

"I blow things up. On purpose. My therapist says it's because the act of making things explode with chemicals feels cathartic for me and makes me less likely to blow up emotionally, but you maybe shouldn't take his word for it, because actually, he's kind of a kook and I'm not entirely sure his degree is real and –"

She kissed me.

The big bad mobsters in the kitchen gasped, literally gasped, and then started _cooing_. I only had a moment to be indignant before my brain caught up with current events.

Darcy's lips were soft and sticky, like she was wearing lip balm (she was), and tasted like coffee (Mocha Madness ™). She had pulled her hands out of mine and was now gently holding my face with her fingertips. She drew away and I made a slightly embarrassing sound of protest. She looked worried.

"Was that not okay?" she asked. I stared at her.

"What? Why would it not be okay?"

She stamped her foot and pouted. "Well, you weren't kissing me back –"

I put one hand behind her head and dragged her back in, kissing her eagerly. The Ravens started whooping. Thor's exuberant laugh boomed over the room.

"Well, brother, I suppose that answers that!"

Darcy's hands cupped my jaw and coaxed me into tipping my head to the side so that she could push up into me without breaking apart. Somewhere in the background, I could hear Phil Coulson sobbing happily and Clint Barton's disgusted grumbles.

Darcy and I broke apart and gasped for breath and I said, "So I guess you're in, then?"

She laughed again and shoved at my chest. "I'm in. You okay with that?"

I was, and I was going to show her how much when my father interrupted with a careful cough. I straightened up and faced him, Darcy tucking herself into my side. Dad looked like he was sucking on a lemon, but since he usually looks like that, I didn't take it as a bad sign. My mother was beaming. Jane Foster was plastered to Thor's side, so I guess they worked out whatever problems she had with his occupation. The entire Family was staring at me.

For once, I was okay with it.

"What?" I said.

"It's 9:30," my dad said.

"Snap_dragons_!" My math final. I twisted out of Darcy's grip and dove for the door. Thor passed me on the way and threw the door open.

"Come on," he said. "I'll drive."

What he meant was that he would break the speed limit and not kill us at the same time, a feat which I hadn't really mastered yet.

"Thanks," I said gratefully.

"Wait!" Darcy grabbed me and yanked me down for one last kiss. "For luck," she said, shoving me at my brother. "Go get 'em."

Thor practically hauled me off my feet and threw me into the car.

000

I passed _Advanced Mathematical Reasoning_ with a B-, by the way, Tony.

Professor Banner was very pleased with my progress.

* * *

**A/N: One to go, cabbage patches.**

**Next Chapter: Aftermath. Pun intended.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll have that drink now." –Loki,**_** Avengers**_

**A/N: Finally finished! Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, made it a favorite, or decided to follow along quietly. Much appreciated, very wonderful.**

* * *

**Chapter 18:** **Du vet at "Slutten" betyr slutten**

Alternatively titled: In which Loki –more or less –has the last word.

* * *

The next few days were… weird.

I don't mean like, stalker, someone's-trying-to-kill-me weird, I mean like my-dad-is-being-nice-and-we're-getting-along weird.

Very weird, in our family.

I was still being followed everywhere I went, not only by Phil and S.H.I.E.L.D. as promised, but also but Hugin and Munin, who had apparently decided to make up for losing me by driving me insane.

That's mobster logic for you, Tony.

I spent a lot of time at Yggdrasil, recovering from being kidnapped and taking down a mob boss and finals week. I got to sit down and talk –really talk –to my mother for the first time in a long while, so that was nice. My dad never actually had a conversation with me, but he would come into whichever room I was in at the time and hover awkwardly in the doorway, staring at me as if afraid I would disappear if he took his eyes off of me. So that was nice.

I started going a little stir-crazy three days in.

"Gotcha!"

Okay, so sneaking out of the mansion was maybe not the best idea. Especially because the entire Family was on high-alert and extremely trigger-happy. I was lucky that it was Thor who caught me.

Literally, by the scruff of my neck. How embarrassing.

"Put me down, Thor!" I hissed.

"Loki?" he put me down and I shook my head back and forth. "What are you doing? It's three in the morning!"

I gave him a dirty look. "I'm aware. What are _you_ doing out here?"

"I asked you first."

I growled. "I'm sick of sitting here with everyone holding their breath and tip-toeing around me. I'm going to see Darcy."

Darcy had left Yggdrasil on Saturday, and had later texted me from her new phone. We kept up a steady stream of text messages, but she hadn't been by the mansion again and I hadn't seen her since. Understandably, because she had to recover from finals week as much as I did, but I was still sore about the fact that the Family wouldn't leave me alone to go see her.

I had texted her at dinner, and she told me to come to the apartment she shared with Jane whenever I could get away. I took her at her word and here I was, at 3 AM, trying to escape.

And getting caught.

"You could come with me," I offered suddenly. "Jane and Darcy live together, you could see her!"

Thor's face brightened and then he looked sheepish. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"What –oh are you _serious_?"

Thor grinned at me, unabashed. My irrepressible big brother. "I was already on my way over there," he admitted. I rolled my eyes.

"Good," I said. "You can drive."

Darcy and Jane live in a very nice, classy apartment building that isn't falling apart and doesn't make weird sounds at night and also isn't inhabited by creepy people.

Maybe I should move.

Anyway, Thor and I stomped through the lobby of their building and into the elevator. I smiled nicely at the little old lady sharing the box with us and she clutched her purse closer to her chest and glared at me. That seemed rude to me, because I was smiling _nicely_, but then I remembered the scars and how they distorted my mouth. I probably looked like I was leering. Gross.

Thor was giving me sympathetic looks. I ignored him.

Darcy opened the door on the first knock. She'd been waiting up.

"Hi!" she beamed, jumping forward and putting her lips on mine. I kissed her back for a moment, enjoying the way she felt and smelled and tasted, and then Thor coughed pointedly and I remembered we were blocking the door and he was still in the hallway.

Darcy giggled. "Come in," she said. "Jane! Your boyfriend is here!"

"Darcy!" Jane Foster came out of her room, blushing. "He's not –I mean." She looked flustered. Thor looked besotted.

"Right," I said, and then Darcy was dragging me into another kiss.

"I missed you," she said when she let me up for air. "Where you been?"

I rolled my eyes. "The Family won't let me out of the house. I had to sneak out. Luckily, Thor was also sneaking out to see Jane." I smirked and she laughed.

"Oooh, yes," she peeked over her shoulder at the two awkward lovebirds. They had their heads bent close together, Thor nearly bending in half to reach Jane's. Darcy cooed.

"Just kiss already!" she stage-whispered to me.

I snorted.

And then Thor reached out and gently, tenderly cupped Jane Foster's face in his hands. She put her arms around his neck. Slowly, Thor started to lean down.

Jane made a small impatient noise and yanked him down to meet her.

They kissed like they did everything, with a stupid amount of gracefulness and perfection. It was terrible to watch.

Don't ask me why I didn't look away.

"Finally!" Darcy shrieked, ruining the moment. Thor and Jane jerked away from each other, blushing furiously. I clapped, because I couldn't resist.

"I give it an 8 point 5," I said. "Too bad you couldn't stick the landing."

Thor growled but Jane Foster actually giggled and his face softened into mush immediately. It was incredible.

"I think I'm okay with this, actually," I said to Darcy. She smirked.

"How about this?" she asked, and then she licked me.

000

Phil Coulson still wouldn't leave me alone, even a week later, but it was bearable now because Darcy had taken to accidentally kicking him every time she walked by and saying, "Oh, sorry, Phil, I didn't see you there."

It was hilarious.

You know about the next Thursday, because I skipped therapy, for obvious reasons, and had to make it up by sending you a progress report email. Confession, I made the whole thing up. Nothing I wrote in that report was real.

No wait, the bit with coming to terms with my brother's obsessive protective streak was real. Sort of.

A bit.

Anyway, backtracking to Tuesday, I took myself down to the Play Center. Ororo Munroe was strangely excited to see me. She even teared up a little.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she said, hugging me tightly and sniffling a little.

"Um," I said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Keep in mind, Tony, that I was currently in company with at least three S.H.I.E.L.D. members, who had been told to, I don't know, make sure none of the kids at the Center decided to bite me or something I guess.

(That was sarcasm by the way.)

Ororo looked puzzled. "Your father told me what happened."

I stopped.

"What?"

"Odin," she repeated, slowly, as if afraid I had lost my memory. "Your father called us on Saturday to tell us what had happened. I was so worried –"

"My _father_? You _know_ my _father_?"

"Of course," Ororo said, looking even more confused by my bewilderment. "He owns the Center."

He. Owns. The Center.

Odin d'Asgard. Owns. The Center.

I bit my tongue instead of screaming at Ororo. It wasn't her fault my dad was a controlling, mind-bending, overprotective, unmitigated _bas– _

Taking a deep breath, I said, unsteadily, "Oh."

She looked apologetic now. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spring that on you…

"No," I said, "it's not you. I'm… thanks. For worrying about me." I mustered a smile for her and she smiled back tentatively. Apparently, she knew about my reputation for emotional explosions too.

Wonderful.

"Can I see the kids?" I asked her. She brightened immediately.

"Oh, of course!" She led me through the Center to the big play room. "They've been taking such good care of the kitten," she assured me. "The little guy never wants for attention, that's for sure."

I nodded and made encouraging sounds and plotted my father's demise.

"Loki!" Leah screamed when she saw me, jumping up from where she had been brushing Natasha's hair into two little braids. She ran to throw her arms around my waist, squeezing tightly. Natasha followed more sedately, holding the ends of her hair patiently.

"Miss Ororo said you were sick," she said suspiciously, eyeing me for signs of illness. Or possibly trying to figure out the best way to catch me without letting go of her braids if I should suddenly collapse. You never knew with Natasha.

"I was," I said, nodding. "But I'm better now."

"Loki!" Johnny and Susan Storm came tumbling up with happy grins. Johnny had a black eye. I turned a furious look on Ororo and she stared back sorrowfully. The thing about the Center is, the kids who spend a lot of time there often have a good reason for not being at home.

"His dad is in prison," she said to me later. "And you know their mom is gone. The foster family they've been living with…"

She didn't need to finish the sentence. I scowled.

"I'll take care of it," I promised. She sighed.

"I was hoping you would say that," she said, relieved.

"Hey," I said to one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. guys as we were leaving. He raised his eyebrows and waited for me to finish.

"Get Phil over to the Storm's foster family," I said finally. "Please."

He nodded grimly and I relaxed. Phil would know what to do. And then we would do it.

With violence hopefully.

000

Our next Sunday dinner was… interesting.

And quiet.

I wasn't speaking to Odin, because he had lied to me and manipulated me and complained constantly about my job doing magic shows for an organization he _owned_.

Thor was trying to avoid embarrassing questions about his new relationship with Jane Foster, so he was keeping his head down and shoveling food into his mouth with a single-minded determination to not be noticed.

Mom was plotting ways to ask Thor embarrassing questions.

And Dad?

Dad cleared his throat. "You took care of the situation with the Storm's foster parents," he said. It wasn't a question. "Good job."

I raised my head and looked at him for the first time. He looked back at me with an earnest expression on his face.

I'm not stupid. I can recognize an olive branch without being beaten around the head with it.

"Thanks," I said. Dad nodded stiffly.

"Good," he said. "Just… good."

I waited a few more moments before I couldn't take it anymore. "Really, Dad? _Really_? The Center? You _own_ the Center? You hired Ororo? Come _on_."

"I just wanted to keep an eye on you," he protested, as if this was a justification.

"What's next?" I ranted. "Do you know Selvig too? How about Professor Banner? Is everyone at Roger's University on your payroll?"

"Actually," my dad started.

"Stop!" I said, "I don't want to know. Dad, why can't you just… trust me?"

Odin sighed heavily. "I do trust you, Loki," he said. "I trust you to be smart and clever. I trust you to come up with a plan to bail your brother out of trouble. I trust you to get a job done when I ask and I trust you to live by yourself and support yourself."

"Really?" I interrupted, "Because, I gotta tell you, I haven't seen a lot of evidence that you trust me to do that last one –"

"Loki. Shut up."

I shut up.

"I can't trust you to look after yourself," my father said, the final nail in this coffin. "I _can't_. You are so smart, and so quick and so _reckless_. You have no idea what you're getting into half the time, and it doesn't slow you down a bit. For goodness' sake, Loki, you waltzed into an enemy's _wedding ceremony_ in the flimsiest disguise I have ever seen in my entire life, and you didn't bat an eyelid. It never occurred to you that you might end up hurt or even killed. All that stood between me and losing both of my sons that day was the chance that Thrym wasn't as stupid as he looks, and that he would realize that if anything happened to you, there would be no place on earth he could hide from me."

"But he did realize," I pointed out. Thor coughed and kicked me under the table. Even Mom looked disappointed with the way I was deliberately missing the point.

My father gave me a grave smile. "I promise I will try to be less overbearing in the future," he offered.

Frankly, that was more than I had ever hoped to get, so I took it gladly. "I promise to try not to get myself into trouble," I offered in return.

"Deal," my dad said, twinkling his eyes at me.

Mom was beaming at us, seemingly forgetting about Thor for the moment, more interested in the reconciliation happening between Dad and I. I didn't blame her. It was a completely unprecedented occurrence.

Our kitchen didn't have doors, but somehow Heimdall managed to convey the impression of knocking when he stopped just inside the invisible line between kitchen and foyer.

"Yes, Heimdall, what is it?" my father asked without turning his head. Heimdall stepped forward and gave me a small smile.

"The dock workers are getting restless," he reported in his deep smooth voice. "What do you want us to do about the ones stirring up trouble? Some of them are threatening to get… rough."

My father leaned back in his seat and sighed. "Get rough first," he said to Heimdall. "Break some noses. Smash some crates. Make it flashy, make them notice."

Heimdall nodded. "As you say, Allfather." He turned and left the kitchen, ignoring the heated glare I sent his way. When he was out of range, I turned the look on my father.

"What?" he asked.

"Seriously?" I growled. "At the kitchen table, _again_. It never ends, does it? Every time I'm here, it's like someone somewhere in the family has a crisis that needs your attention and then we end up with mob business at the kitchen table."

"I really don't understand your hang up with the kitchen table," my father said calmly. "All of the most important things in my life have been conceived on this table."

"It's ridiculous," I grumbled. "People eat here."

"Yes," my father agreed, "but –"

"Wait," Thor interrupted, slowly. "Dad, don't you always say that Loki and I are the most important things in your life?"

A beat. My mother hid a grin.

"I do say that," Odin agreed, sitting back comfortably in his chair and beaming at his horrified children.

"Oh my _god_!" I jerked my hands off of the table and shoved my chair back, hands waving. "Ugh, that is… _ugh_!"

I was so disgusted I was at a loss for words. Congratulations, Dad, you've achieved the impossible.

Mom was laughing.

"This is not funny!" Thor exclaimed, examining the table around his plate as if looking for evidence and then turning somewhat green.

Odin roared with laughter. "Oh, come here, come here!" he stood up and grabbed my flailing arms, tugging me closer to him and away from the table. I stopped screeching and stared up at him. Dad didn't often hold me, so this standing-close thing was new.

He eyed me for a moment and then ran his hand over my hair, pleased when I didn't flinch. "You are," he said, completely serious now, "the most important thing in my life. You, your mother, and your brother, mean everything to me."

I held my breath.

"Be _careful_," Odin said. "You aren't just running around doing as you please with just anybody. That's my son you're throwing into danger. Be careful."

I nodded unsteadily, suddenly feeling very small. "I… okay, Dad." I said softly. "I will."

"Good," he nodded once, firmly, and patted my hair one more time before letting his hand fall away. He pushed me towards my chair and I gave him an incredulous look.

"Are you kidding me? I'm not sitting there now! You and Mom…"

"_Don't_ say it!" Thor exclaimed. I shuddered.

"Can we please focus here?" my dad said. I threw my hands wide.

"On _what_?"

Dad smirked.

"On your mother's delicious dinner of course." Mom smiled pleasantly at us, amusement and mischief twinkling in her eyes and lifting the corners of her mouth.

Well. When he put it that way.

We sat.

000

Alright, Tony, that's it. Now you know everything.

I… actually, I feel better? That's… huh.

I'd love to tell you that you can stick your therapy writing crap up your nose, but, well.

I guess it… worked?

Huh.

Who knew.

I got home from my first day of the new semester of classes and found someone in my apartment.

I didn't stab them or shoot them or call the police and lose my mind.

That's good, because it was Darcy, and it's Not Good to stab someone when they're kissing you within an inch of your life.

That's one surprise I can get used to, I think.

* * *

**A/N: The end guys! It's been a long journey for me, thanks for sticking with it through the (slightly shorter) part for you.**

**See you in the archives, cabbage patches.**


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